T  H-E     ft        v  c. , 


SONS  OF  THE  BORDER, 


SKETCHES    OF   THE '-••  /A ;',.;';' '0 ;•,;  ;>; 


LIFE   AND   PEOPLE 


OF  THE  FAR  FRONTIER. 


BY 

JAMES  W.  STEELE. 

C'DEANE    MONAHAN.") 


TOPEKA,   KANSAS: 

COMMONWEALTH  PRINTING  COMPANY. 

1873. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  IST'2,  l>y 

JAMES  W.  STEELE, 
In  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


CONTENTS. 


PARE. 

Introduction o 

The  Sons  of  the  Border 9 

Chuck 20 

New  Mexican  Common  Life ^. .">"> 

The  Scout's  Mistake V 50 

Copper-Distilled GG 

•Tack's  Divorce 70 

A  Harvest-Day  with  the. Pueblos 00 

Brown's  Revenge 108 

A  Day  with  the  Padres 122 

Joe's  Pocket 136 

Woman  under  Difficulties 1C8 

The  Reunion  of  the  Ghosts 170 

Coyotes 188 

The  Priest  of  El  Paso 107 

La  Senorita 212 

Peg 222 

Captain  Jinks 237 

Jornada  del  Muerto ...  ,...-...  ....2-iO 


989744 


INTRODUCTION. 


Descriptive  literature  is  nothing  unless  .sectional.  True  genius  is  cos- 
mopolitan in  its  scope,  to  be  sure,  and  good  and  grand  things  in  song  and 
story  gradually  become  common  property.  But  the  man  who  attempts  to 
paint  humanity  in  generalities,  to  picture  the  universe  in  its  entirety, 
wastes  time  and  strength  in  chasing  a  phantom.  Wealth  of  mind  is  for 
all  the  world,  but  the  digging  and  coining  must  be  done  by  patient  and 
careful  toil  in  particular  localities.  The  successful  worker  in  poesy  or 
romance  wins  his  triumphs  by  concentrating  his  efforts  upon  a  special 
set  of  surroundings  in  scenery,  traditions,  thought  and  manners,  and 
revealing  and  reflecting  the  distinguishing  features  of  a  given  section  and 
the  peculiar  characteristics  of  a  certain  class  or  division  of  people  through 
skilful  delineations  of  really  striking  points.  And  the  striking  points  of 
a  country  or  a  people  are  not  always  the  things  which  stand  out  most 
prominently,  and  first  arrest  the  attention  of  the  casual  looker.  Tho 
grunt  of  a  hog  is  often  worth  more  than  a  whole  lecture  on  geology ;  and 
a  single  crisp  sentence  of  slang  frequently  contains  more  of  actual  sig- 
nificance than  is  embodied  in  pages  of  the  most  accurate  and  elaborate 
statistics.  The  little  things  are  the  true  indices',  as  all  the  great  masters 
have  demonstrated ;  and  the  little  things  are  caught  and  fixed  only  by 
steady  and  searching  study  within  fixed  limits.  Homer,  Shakespeare, 
Scott  and  Goethe  wrote  for  all  mankind  :  but  their  universal  recognition 
was  gained  by  the  fidelity  with  which  they  presented  the  truly  forcible 
and  suggestive  peculiarities  of  their  own  times,  countries  and  peoples. 
The  same  is  true  of  Thackeray  and  Dickens.  And  a  similar  loyalty  to 
local  influences  in  our  own  land  has  clothed  Sleepy  Hollow  with  immor- 
tality and  made  American  literature  radiant  for  all  time  with  the  match- 
less light  of  the  "  Scarlet  Letter/' 

The  volume  to  which  this  is  an  introduction  is  noticeably  faithful  to  the 
theory  of  which  we  have  spoken,  with  this  qualification  :  that  it  relates  to 
people  solely — resources,  prospects,  geography  and  natural  history  being 


6  INTRODUCTION. 

but  lightly  touched  upon  in  the  vivid  aud  penetrating  portrayals  of  those 
far  more  interesting  and  suggestive  features,  men  and  women.  The 
people  delineated  are  not  the  denizens  of  far-off  polar  or  tropic  regions, 
but  are  intimately  connected  with  us  and  our  interests,  in  language. 
religion  and  common  government,  if  not  in  race  and  color.  They  are,  in 
fact,  of  our  own  kind,  transformed  by  the  wonderful  education  of  the 
Border  into  people  of  the  existence  of  whom  all  of  us  know,  but  with  whose 
characteristics  we  have  but  slight  acquaintance.  The  frontier  character, 
representing  the  most  interesting  and  fleeting  phase  of  American  life, — 
a  life  unique  in  itself  and  utterly  unknown  elsewhere  under  the  sun. — has 
long  needed  a  capable  delineator.  But  men  sufficiently  gifted  with  the 
dramatic  faculty,  the  keen  insight  into  motive  and  character,  the  rare 
power  of  looking  through  the  crudeness  and  coarseness  of  mere  outside 
life  and  down  into  the  governing  ideas  and  feelings, — the  rude  sense  of 
honor,  the  love  and  hate,  the  pride  and  shame,  the  pathetic  and  poetic 
emotions  which  exist  here  as  everywhere, — have  apparently  visited  the 
Border  but  rarely,  and  made  only  meagre  record  of  their  sights  and 
experiences.  At  last,  however,  we  have  in  these  pages,  in  a  fair  degree 
of  completeness,  a  true  picture  of  these  singular  people.  There  is  an 
indescribable  test — a  sort  of  instinct,  it  may  be  called — by  which  truth- 
fulness of  description  is  readily  recognized  wherever  found,  no  matter 
how  little  knowledge  the  reader  may  have  of  the  facts.  The  sketches  in 
this  volume  seem  to  us  to  bear  that  test.  No  man  could  manufacture 
such  characters;  no  man  could  tell  what  is  here  set  down  without  previous 
actual  study  from  life.  And  herein  lies  the  real  and  enduring  value  of 
the  volume.  It  is  written  to  entertain  and  amuse,  it  is  true  ;  but  it  is  also 
an  accurate  record  of  a  fast-fading  life  which  cannot  much  longer  endure, 
but  which  makes  an  important  chapter  in  the  social  and  moral  annals  of 
our  country. 

No  one  needs  to  be  told,  we  apprehend,  that  we  but  poorly  know  a 
man  until  we  get  into  his  heart  and  study  his  sensibilities.  Human  nature 
is  substantially  the  same  under  all  skies  and  all  circumstances  ;  but  the 
common  kinship  finds  expression  in  as  many  different  forms  as  there  are 
variations  of  climate,  culture  and  experience  in  the  world.  To  reach  the 
secret  springs  and  exhibit  their  workings  is  the  only  way  to  portray  the 
individual  truthfully  and  with  force  and  interest.  The  author  of  these 
papers  has  evidently  learned  this  ;  and  hence  one-half  of  them  are  stories 
— romances  with  but  little,  if  any,  foundation  in  circumstantial  fact,  and 
yet  just  as  true  to  life  as  if  painted  from  actual  occurrences.  The  real 
purpose  of  fiction,  so  often  ignored  or  misunderstood,  has  here  one  of  its 
best  illustrations.  The  story  of  the  Border  would  be  but  half  told  without 


INTRODUCTION.  7 

these  imaginary  episodes,  which  deal  directly  with  the  deepest  thoughts 
and  feelings, — unveiling  the  very  souls  of  these  strange  people,  so  to 
speak,  and  letting  us  look  in  upon  that  which  they  so  well  knew  how  to 
conceal,  and  yet  without  a  glimpse  of  which  we  can  but  partially  under- 
stand and  imperfectly  judge  them. 

The  author  has  not  alone  studied  the  men.  It  must  be  stated  to  his 
credit  that  lie  is  the  first  who  has  attempted  to  describe  the  woman  of  the 
Border, — the  wife,  mother  and  maiden, — not  as  she  ministers  to  the 
baseness  of  man,  but  as  she  is  in  the  home  which  is  as  much  to  her  as 
ours  is  to  us.  Of  the  saloon-girl,  the  confirmed  harlot,  and  the  paramour 
of  the  gambler  and  bandit,  we  have  had  enough.  It  is  well  that  we  finally 
have  at  least  one  chapter  which  does  justice  to  the  true  woman  of  the 
Border,  as  in  isolation  and  loneliness  she  bears  her  burden  of  toil,  priva- 
tion and  suffering. 

Scattered  throughout  these  papers,  the  reader  will  find  many  thoughts 
which  he  will  naturally  surmise  could  only  have  come  from  recollections  of 
military  life,  expressing  as  they  do  that  peculiar  love  of  arms,  the  country 
and  the  flag  which  is  born  of  the  dangers  and  delights  of  soldiership.  It 
was  as  an  officer  in  the  regular  army  of  the  United  States  that  the  author 
gained  that  insight  into  frontier  life  and  character  which  he  has  used  so 
admirably  in  his  sketches.  But  always  silent  with  regard  to  his  personal 
experiences,  and  modestly  backward  about  claiming  credit  for  himself  in 
any  respect,  no  one  dreamed,  after  he  returned  to  private  life  in  1870. 
that  he  possessed  so  many  valuable  facts  and  so  many  rare  impressions  as 
go  to  make  up  these  chapters,  much  less  the  ability  to  write  them  with 
that  consummate  skill,  taste  and  force  which  he  has  displayed.  From 
some  personal  knowledge  of  the  man, — or  boy,  as  he  was  and  is  yet  gen- 
erally considered  to  be, — and  with  a  vague  suspicion  that  he  might  be 
"  developed''  in  a  literary  way,  we  solicited  him,  in  December,  1870,  to 
contribute  to  the  pages  of  the  "  Kansas  Magazine, ''  then  about  to  be  started, 
and  with  which  we  were  to  have  the  honor  of  being  identified  as  editor 
during  the  first  year  of  its  existence — if,  fortunately,  it 'should  survive  so 
long  as  that.  He  promptly  consented  to  try  the  experiment  of  writing  a 
sketch  or  story  for  each  of  twelve  numbers  of  the  periodical,  if  they 
proved  to  have  "  anything  in  them/'  He  went  his  ways,  engaged  entirely 
in  business  pursuits,  and  every  month  furnished  us  a  sketch  or  story,  and 
frequently  both.  The  first  was  "  Jack's  Divorce, ''  which  appeared  in  the 
initial  number  of  the  Magazine,  and  which  surprised  and  delighted  us 
with  its  originality  of  interest  and  strength.  Next  came  "Life  Among 
the  New  Mexicans,'*  the  first  real  sketch  from  personal  observations  ever 
written  of  that  peculiar  population.  And  thi?,  in  turn,  was  followed  by 


8  INTRODUCTION. 

"Jornada  del  Muerto,''  the  most  graceful  and  forcible  of  all  his  stories, 
we  think.  With  this,  general  attention  was  attracted,  and  our  young 
friend's  writings  soon  became  the  special  feature  of  the  "  Kansas, :<  and 
the  favorite  selections  of  the  newspapers  all  over  the  country,  although 
prepared  from  first  to  last  only  in  the  intervals  of  occasional  release  from 
ordinary  business  thoughts  and  labors.  There  could  scarcely  be  a  greater 
mistake  than  to  suppose  that  these  papers  were  written  as  a  business,  or 
that  the  time  employed  in  their  production  was  a  continuous  year.  Many 
of  them  were  written  in  our  presence  and  sent  to  the  composing-room 
piecemeal,  in  appeasement  of  the  traditional  imp's  cry  for  "copy/' 
without  an  attempt  at  a  revision.  That  they  have  faults,  we  are  prepared 
to  admit ;  but  that  their  excellences  make  full  amends  for  all  shortcom- 
ings, few  will  venture  to  deny. 

The  collection  and  publication  of  the  papers  in  their  present  form  was 
at  our  suggestion  :  and  thus  arises  a  god-fatherly  relation  on  our  part  to 
a  volume  with  which  we  are  glad  to  claim  a  kind  of  paternal  connection. 
The  book,  it  seems  to  us,  is  a  timely  and  valuable  addition  to  our  Western 
literature.  The  Border  and  its  inhabitants  have  been  too  long  described 
and  interpreted  only  through  the  dime-novel ;  and  it  is  to  their  advantage, 
as  well  as  a  matter  of  general  benefit,  that  they  have,  even  at  this  late  day, 
been  seen,  studied  and  portrayed  by  a  man  who  has  discerned  and  re- 
vealed their  real  characteristics,  and  whose  writings  must  for  a  long  time, 
if  not  for  all  time,  remain  our  clearest  and  truest  delineation  of  that 
swiftly-disappearing  phase  of  American  life  which  is  at  once  a  memory 
and  a  prophecy. 

HENRY  KING. 

TOPEKA,  DF.CKMBKR  10th.  1872. 


THE     SONS     OF     THE  :'BGR,BER' 

NO  one  would  ever  learn  from  the  prolific  volumes 
of  Abbott,  Greeley  and  the  rest,  that  our  country 
ever  developed  anything  personally  characteristic  save 
abstract  greatness.  Of  course  not,  say  the  book-makers; 
America  is  yet  too  young  to  have  developed  classes  whose 
strangeness  sets  them  apart  from  the  great  mass  of  their 
countrymen.  There  is  where  there  is  a  mistake. 

There  is  a  life  where  habits,  prejudices  and  tastes  which 
have  been  bred  in  the  bone  are  forgotten;  where  the 
grooves  of  life  are  turned  awry  and  broken ;  and  in  whose 
strongly  defined,  yet  fleeting  characteristics  are  to  be 
seen  the  most  remarkable  of  all  the  changes  which  pecu- 
liar surroundings  are  capable  of  working  upon  preedu- 
cated  character. 

The  Borderer  is  a  man  not  born,  but,  unconsciously  to 
himself,  made  by  his  surroundings  and  necessities.  He 
may  have  been  born  on  the  Chesapeake  or  the  banks  of 
the  Juniata ;  he  may  hail  from  Lincolnshire  or  Cork :  far 
Western  life  will  clothe  him  with  a  new  individuality, 
make  him  forget  the  tastes  and  habits  of  early  life,  and 
transform  him  into  one  of  that  restless  horde  of  cos- 
mopolites who  form  the  crest  of  the  slow  wave  of  hu- 
manity which  year  by  year  creeps  toward  the  setting 
sun. 

The  life  of  the  Border  is  a  transitory  one,  and  fast 
passing  away.     The  peculiarities  which  belong  to  life 
and  men  there,  when  gone  in  fast  advancing  civilization,. 
2 


10  THE   SONS   OF   THE   BORDER. 

will  leave  no  record  of  themselves,  even  as  the  back- 
woodsman has  left  none.  The  frontier  has  a  language, 
.a  religion  and  a  social  status  of  its  own.  It  has  a  habit 
lof  thought  ^and  action  unique,  vigorous  and  not  wanting 
inf  the  ^foments  which  everywhere  express  religion,  honor 
and  pathos.  The  people  whose  tastes  or  whose  fates  lead 
them  here,  have  a  world  to  themselves  alone.  A  world 
of  loneliness  and  lost  comforts,  where  cities,  banks,  rail- 
roads, theatres,  churches  and  scandal  have  not  yet  come ; 
a  world  where  births  and  weddings  are  few,  funeral  cere- 
monies are  short,  and  tears  are  nearly  unknown.  It  is  a 
land  where  there  is  so  close  an  affinity  between  nature 
and  man  that  nature  is  an  hourly  teacher ;  a  land  that  is 
solemn  as  the  sea,  and  where,  as  upon  the  sea,  the  far 
blue  mists  of  the  horizon  bound  the  world.  The  days, 
unchanged  by  the  ceremonies  and  observances  of  civili- 
zation, are  all  alike,  each  one  as  melancholy  as  a  Puritan 
Sabbath.  Nature  is  herself,  and  spreads  her  feasts  and 
acts  her  caprices  for  her  own  pleasure.  Acres  of  flowers, 
leagues  of  beauty,  bloom  and  fade  and  come  again, 
unseen  by  man.  Solitary  birds  fly  lazily  by.  The  ani- 
mals stare  at  the  new  animal — the  passing  man — almost 
unscared,  and  silence  is  a  power. 

And  yet,  the  Borderer  is  not  a  child  of  nature.  Men 
never  are.  That  term  is  a  license  of  the  poets.  He  is  a 
creature  of  education ;  but  an  education  so  peculiar  that 
the  term  scarcely  expresses  it.  He  is  a  very  different 
character  from  the  backwoodsman  who  has  been  called 
his  prototype,  and  in  all  respects  is  a  much  more  modern 
creation.  He  who  a  generation  ago  was  engaged  in  fell- 
ing the  forests  of  Ohio  and  Indiana,  was  clad  in  buckskin 
and  moccasons,  and  practised  in  a  homely  manner  the 
virtues  of  hospitality,  uncouth  but  disinterested  kindness 


THE    SONS   OP   THE   BOEDER.  11 

and  general  honesty.  If  he  was  ignorant  of  the  graces 
of  civilization,  he  also  knew  of  few  of  the  vices.  He  had 
not  been  in  cities,  and  carried  their  sins  with  him  into 
the  wilderness.  The  weapon  of  his  day  was  an  honest 
rifle,  and  not  an  arsenal  of  death  slung  about  the  waist. 
In  all  these  things  the  modern  frontiersman  sets  at  nought 
the  idealisms  of  Cooper,  the  time-honored  traditions  of 
the  Wabash,  and  the  well-established  ideas  of  novel- 
reading  mankind. 

The  ideal  Borderer,  the  type  of  his  class  from  Western 
Kansas  to  the  Rio  Grande,  you  will  find  clad  in  calfskin 
boots,  with  broad-rimmed  hat  worn  askew,  and  his  nether 
limbs  encased  in  fancy  cassimeres.  There  are  rings  upon 
his  fingers,  and  blazing  jewels  upon  his  breast.  He  is 
loud  and  defiant  in  dress,  manners  and  general  deport- 
ment. He  clings  with  the  tenacity  of  second  nature  to 
the  language  of  the  dance-house  and  the  brothel.  The 
happy  thought .  of  Colonel  Colt,  which  has  filled  more 
unmarked  graves  than  the  plague,  and  eternally  settled 
more  disputes  than  all  juries,  is  his  constant  and  valued 
companion,  and  he  wears  his  rakish  hat  awry  upon  his 
oily  locks  with  the  air  of  the  king  of  all  the  loafers. 

But  he  is  not  a  loafer.  He  is  quarrelsome,  jealous  in 
honor,  and  still  very  much  of  a  man  and  a  friend  to  those 
who  understand  him.  He  makes  no  reservation  of  actual 
impressions  and  thoughts,  but  in  this  he  is  only  unneces- 
sarily sincere  and  independent.  He  will  take  a  stranger's 
last  dollar  at  a  game  which  he  does  not  understand,  but 
he  will  likewise  lend  and  share  to  the  last  cent  and  the 
last  morsel.  He  hates  "  airs,"  cannot  abide  to  be  pat- 
ronized, and  is  ugly  to  all  who  chance  to  disagree  with 
him.  His  great  fault  is  that  he  is  intolerant,  but  he  is 
brave,  sincere  and  faithful  when  once  enlisted  in  any 
cause. 


12  THE   SONS   OF   THE   BORDER. 

This  kind  of  man,  with  the  many  variations  which 
exist  among  classes  always,  is  the  frontiersmen.  Cali- 
fornia has  known  him  these  twenty  years.  He  is  here 
and  there  in  all  the  villages  in  Colorado  and  New  Mexico, 
and  his  habitation  is  in  every  sheltered  nook  upon  the 
great  Plains.  "With  all  his  faults  it  may  justly  be  said  of 
him  that  he  is  a  man  who  depends  upon  his  courage,  who 
has  chosen  his  life  and  will  never  leave  it,  and  who  is  the 
fit  and  capable  vidette  who  stands  upon  the  verge  of  the 
mighty  civilization  which  is  destined  to  follow  him,  when 
he  and  his  unconscious  work  shall  have  passed  away. 

It  is  not  necessarily  a  startling  announcement  that  the 
Borderer  does  not  feel  called  upon  to  live  entirely  without 
the  comfort  and  solace  of  woman.  Men  may  be  sad- 
dened, but  not  astonished,  to  know  that  the  bold-faced 
curse  of  the  by-streets  of  the  most  populous  and  enlight- 
ened cities  of  the  world  is  also  here,  bolder,  gaudier  and 
more  shameless  than  ever.  Ministering  to  every  base- 
ness, inciting  to  every  crime,  worse  than  her  associates 
by  so  much  as  woman  fallen  is  always  worse  than  man, 
the  drunken  queen  of  the  demi  monde  flaunts  her  finery 
among  the  shanties  of  every  frontier  town. 

But  there  is  another  class,  who,  in  a  feminine  way,  are 
like  unto  their  husbands  and  brothers.  They  are  indeed 
few,  and  it  will  be  long  before  there  is  a  surplus  of  maiden 
ladies  upon  the  frontier.  How  or  why  any  of  them  ever 
came  there  is  something  of  a  mystery.  But  they  live  in 
the  ranche  and  the  adobe,  and  are  wives  and  mothers, 
and  are  content,  and  it  is  hardly  superlative  to  say,  as 
happy  as  their  more  elegant  sisters  of  the  East.  Their 
nearest  neighbor  may  be  twenty  miles  away,  their  chances 
for  gossip  few  and  far  between,  and  all  their  amusements 
and  occupations  homely  and  man-like.  They  know  more 


THE   SONS   OF  THE   BORDER.  13 

of  the  economy  of  the  corral,  the  qualities  of  horses  and 
the  habits  of  the  coyote,  than  they  do  of  the  prevailing 
fashions,  and  the  cunning  variations  in  length  of  trail 
and  size  of  chignon.  But  the  neat  bed  in  the  corner,  the 
clean  hearth,  the  drapery  of  the  one  poor  window,  and 
the  trailing-vine  over  the  low  roof,  in  many  a  lonely 
frontier  house,  proclaim  the  touch,  the  taste,  the  love  and 
care  with  which  in  loneliness  and  poverty  and  isolation, 
a  woman  still  adorns  the  spot  which  is  her  home. 

There  are  children,  too.  You  need  not  think  to  escape 
the  cry  of  infancy  by  immigrating  westward.  They  never 
heard  a  school-house  bell,  and  are  ignorant  of  the  func- 
tions of  a  Sunday-school  superintendent.  They  are  even 
deprived  of  the  ordinary  amusements  of  children.  They 
ride  no  gates,  slide  upon  no  cellar-doors,  and  make  no 
small  escapades,  to  be  found  and  carried  home  by  the 
police.  But  the  mud-pie  proprietorship  of  a  hundred 
leagues  is  thiers.  All  their  lives  they  have  heard  the 
bark  of  the  coyote,  and  watched  for  the  coming  and 
going  of  the  bison,  and  are  in  the  majority  of  instances 
the  tow-headed,  boggle-eyed  urchins  which  English  chil- 
dren the  world  over  are  apt  to  be. 

Partly  from  circumstances  attending  traffic,  particu- 
larly freighting,  but  mainly  from  what  may  be  called  the 
migratory  instinct,  most  of  the  people  of  the  far  frontier 
owe  the  fact  of  their  residence  there.  So  far  east  as 
Western  Kansas,  there  is  still  a  more  natural  motive — 
the  desire  of  obtaining  a  home  and  land.  There  is  no 
more  natural  illustration  than  is  here  apparent,  of  how 
the  human  mind  goes  back  in  its  desires  to  the  original 
source  of  all  wealth,  and  to  the  original  meaning  of  the 
word  home, — a  home  which  is  ours,  because  we  have  made 
it.  In  the  search  for  this,  there  is  no  danger  which  can 


14  THE   SONS    OE.TIIE   BORDER. 

daunt,  no  difficulty  which  can  discourage.  The  perti- 
nacity with  which  the  pre-emptors  and  squatters  have 
clung  to  their  poor  homes,  amid  surroundings  in  which 
there  seems  so  little  present  happiness  and  so  little  future 
hope,  is  not  the  least  surprising  feature  of  their  hard  life. 
But  with  regard  to  the  class  with  which  this  article  has 
mainly  to  do,  the  question  as  to  why  they  are  there,  and 
what  they  find  to  do,  is  harder  to  answer.  The  Plains 
ranche  proper  is  always  a  small  store,  in  which  is  sold 
bacon,  flour  and  a  villanously  poor  article  of  whiskey. 
The  travel  is  mainly  confined  to  certain  roads,  and,  not- 
withstanding the  trans-continental  lines  of  railroad,  is  at 
certain  seasons  of  the  year  by  no  means  inconsiderable. 
By  this  travel,  the  ranchero  lives.  The  brown  walls  of 
his  hovel,  seen  from  afar,  are  hailed  with  delight  by  men 
who  have  not  drunk  or  smoked  since  the  night  at  the 
last  stopping-place.  To  pass  without  drinking,  would  be 
to  the  average  Plainsman  an  act  of  folly  little  short  of 
absolute  idiocy. 

But  the  proportion  of  people  who  live  on  the  Border 
without  any  visible  means  of  support  is  larger  than  any- 
where else  outside  of  metropolitan  cities.  The  hangers-on 
of  the  ranches  go  and  come  unquestioned.  Their  sinister, 
bearded  faces  disappear,  and  they  are  gone,  perhaps  only 
for  an  hour,  though  if  forever  it  leads  to  no  inquiry  and 
excites  no  alarm.  The  Anglo-Saxon  can  become  any- 
thing. He  can  be  Indianized  and  Mexicanized  as  easily 
as  not,  and  upon  the  frontier  he  becomes  an  Arab.  Not 
a  weak  imitation  or  an  intentioned  pattern,  but  of  his 
own  kind,  and  after  his  own  fancies  and  necessities. 
Taciturn,  suspicious  and  courageous, — hospitable  in  peace 
and  desperate  and  unscrupulous  in  enmity, — the  Bedouin 
of  the  Border,  organized  and  armed,  would  make  the 
most  efficient  corps  ever  formed  for  partisan  warfare. 


THE   SONS   OF   THE   BORDER.  15 

The  Border  is  a  field  for  the  gathering  together  of  all 
kinds  and  races.  Here  is  the  patient,  plodding,  phleg- 
matic German,  fast  forgetting  every  tradition  of  his 
fatherland  in  the  absorbing  wildness  which  makes  all 
men  alike.  Here  is  the  Irishman,  with  the  rich  brogue 
of  Tipperary  still  upon  his  tongue,  but  changed  in  all 
else  which  speaks  of  the  green  isle  of  peat,  potatoes  and 
blarney.  And  here  is  the  down-east  Yankee,  forgetful 
of  all  the  ideas  of  the  land  of  Puritans  and  hard-cider, 
turning  all  his  native  cunning  and  shrewdness  into 
account  at  poker  and  California-Jack.  Here  is  the 
broad-shouldered!7' son  of  the  South,  still  speaking  the 
mincing  dialect  which  is  borrowed  in  the  name  of  gen- 
tility from  the  thick  tongue  of  the  negro,  but  for  a  won- 
der forgetting  to  insert  "  Sir"  at  the  beginning,  middle 
and  ending  of  every  sentence.  But  all  are  changed,  at 
least  in  name.  The  German  has  become  "Dutch  Bill," 
or  "  Sam"  or  "  Jake ;"  the  Irishman  is  "  Pat"  or  "Paddy ," 
adding  any  further  pseudonym  which  may  designate  that 
particular  Irishman.  The  New  Englander  glories  in  the 
name  of  "  Yank,"  and  the  Southerner  answers  with  great 
alacrity  to  the  name  of  "  Tennessee"  or  "  Kaintuck,"  and 
sometimes  to  "  Pike"  or  "  Cracker."  Thus  is  rampant 
democracy  made  manifest.  The  real  names  of  individuals 
are  utterly  unknown  to  companions  who  have  known 
them  for  years.  Any  peculiarity  of  person  or  history 
produces  its  apt  cognomen  of  recognition.  The  man 
who  squints  is  "  Cockeye"  for  all  time.  The  lame  man 
is  "Limpey,"  and  the  tall  man  "Slim  Dick."  The  sur- 
prising feature  of  this  frontier  fashion  is  that  these  names 
are  accepted  and  gloried  in.  Indeed,  those  which  are 
born  of  some  peculiarity  of  history  are  proudly  borne. 
To  be  "  Buffalo  Bill"  or  "  Fighting  Bob"  is  to  be  famous. 


16  THE   SONS   OF  THE   BORDER. 

"Mister"  is  the  designation  of  a  stranger,  but  if  a  Bor- 
derer calls  an  individual  "  mister"  after  he  has  known 
him  a  week,  he  means  some  fine  morning  to  kill  him 
unless  he  changes  his  opinion  of  his  merits. 

Brusk  and  rude  as  all  this  seems,  there  is  no  land 
where  the  established  forms  are  more  rigidly  exacting. 
"  Take  suthin'  ? "  means  mortal  offence  and  an  ever-re- 
membared  grudge  if  the  invited  man  refuse.  If  you  are 
asked  to  "  set  up  an7  eat,"  it  is  not  a  mere  form,  but  you 
are  not  only  really  welcome,  but  expected  to  return  the 
neighborly  compliment  when  your  host  comes  your  way. 
In  this  immense  scope  of  country,  men  who  live  two 
hundred  miles  apart  are  often  near  neighbors  and  inti- 
mate friends.  The  necessities  of  the  frontier  produce  a 
Freemasonry  in  comparason  with  which  the  actual  bro- 
therhood is  a  tame  and  meaningless  thing.  If  a  ranch- 
man lend  his  neighbor  a  mule  and  tell  him  to  leave  it  at 
Sim's  or  Slocum's,  a  hundred  miles  away,  he  is  certain 
of  finding  the  animal  there  when  wanted.  Honesty  and 
punctuality  are  the  current  exchange  of  the  country,  and 
a  short  shrift  and  sudden  end  is  the  meed  of  absolute  ne- 
cessity to  him  who  wrongs  his  neighbor. 

Another  band  of  union  among  all  white  men,  is  com- 
mon enmity  to  the  universal  enemy,  the  Indian.  Hatred 
of  the  Apache  and  the  Kiowa  will  be  the  uppermost  feel- 
ing in  the  Borderer's  mind  as  long  as  there  is  a  disputed 
territory,  claimed  alike  by  him  and  his  enemy.  Year  by 
year  the  ranks  of  the  warriors  are  thinned  in  many  an 
encounter  which  is  never  heard  of  in  the  world  of  news- 
papers, and  year  by  year  the  frontiersman  counts  fresh 
accessions  to  his  ranks.  "While  right  and  justice  and 
policy  are  discussed,  the  contest  proceeds  without  any 
abatement  between  the  parties  interested.  The  sentence 


THE    SONS   OF   THE    BORDER.  17 

of  doom  which  is  written  against  the  red  man  is  utterly 
irrevocable.  The  horde  who  invade  his  hunting  grounds, 
are  hardy,  adventurous,  bold  and  as  cunning  as  he. 
Within  a  century  one  of  the  great  divisions  of  a  common 
family  will  have  curiously  passed  away,  and  his  only  his- 
tory will  be  the  history  of  his  decadence  and  death,  pre- 
served in  the  scanty  annals  of  his  first  and  last  enemy, 
the  Borderer. 

But  there  is  still  another  side  to  the  frontiersman's 
friendship.  His  neighborly  courtesies  are  all  outside  of 
the  obligations  imposed  by  the  sixth  commandment. 
The  revolver  is  not  eternally  carried  about  for  nothing, 
and  its  owner  is  quick  of  hand  and  eye,  and  generally 
sure  of  his  weopon  and  his  aim.  There  is  no  man  upon 
whom  a  reckless  code  of  honor  is  so  fatally  and  foolishly 
binding.  An  insult,  fancied  or  real,  is  settled  then  and 
there  with  a  life,  and  the  bystanders  are  the  judges  of 
the  fairness  of  the  transaction.  To  maul  and  gouge  is 
childish,  to  murder  is  gentlemanly  and  proper,  and  withal 
the  fashion.  The  old  code  of  the  duello  was  a  tame  and 
insipid  thing  compared  with  a  row  in  a  saloon  in  a  bor- 
der town.  There  is  no  code,  no  law,  no  jury.  Each 
man,  in  the  heat  of  passion,  is  the  judge  of  the  effect  of 
the  foolish  word,  the  drunken  insult,  or  the  hastily-spoken 
taunt,  and  therefore  gives  his  own  life  or  takes  another 
for  it,  as  depends  upon  his  soberness,  his  quickness  or  his 
courage.  Talk  of  the  fashions  which  rule  society !  Tell 
of  hoops,  and  chignons,  and  bustles,  and  Dolly  Vardens  ! 
On  the  Border,  men  willingly  die  to  be  in  the  fashion. 

Men  become  accustomed  to  all  surroundings  except 
prison-walls,  and  to  solitude  easiest  of  all.  The  fron- 
tiersman would  smile  if  you  told  him  his  life  was  a 
monotonous  one.  But  wanting  even  the  newspaper,  he 


18  THE   SONS   OP  THE   BORDER. 

is  even  more  gregarious  than  other  men,  and  a  compan- 
ion of  some  kind,  brute  in  the  want  of  something  human, 
is  necessary  to  existence.  The  dog,  dear  as  he  is  to  many 
men  everywhere,  is  doubly  a  friend  in  the  wilderness. 
His  lonesome  master  sleeps  and  eats  and  talks  with  him. 
He  may  be  the  mangiest  cur  that  ever  barked.  ~No  mat- 
ter :  it  is  not  a  country  in  which  to  be  particular.  There 
is  another  animal,  which  commonly  leads  a  persecuted 
life  and  dies  a  violent  death  among  Christian  people, 
which  here  would  find  long  life  and  due  appreciation. 
What  would  not  the  frontiersman  give  for  a  cat  ?  The 
most  comical  comforter  of  loneliness  I  ever  knew  was  a 
donkey — a  small  specimen  which  could  be  carried  in 
one's  arms.  As  this  long-eared,  solemn-countenanced 
little  ass  stalked  about  the  shanty,  investigated  the  cook- 
ery, and  even  climbed  upon  the  bed,  its  jolly  master 
would  sit  and  hold  his  sides  with  mirth.  But  the  appor- 
tunity  for  companionship  with  his  own  kind,  never  passes 
unused.  There  are  nightly  gatherings  at  every  ranche, 
and  the  resource  for  amusement  is  usually  the  art  which 
is  as  old  as  Babel ;  the  art  of  story-telling.  Each  man 
tells  of  his  own  adventures,  palming  them  off  for  very 
truth,  and,  as  every  listener  knows,  making  them  as  he 
goes  out  of  whole  cloth.  Some  of  the  most  outrageous 
travesties  upon  truth  ever  said  or  sung  have  beguiled  the 
dull  hours  in  the  frontier  cabin.  The  next  resource  is 
the  card-table,  and  in  mining  districts  the  sums  which 
change  hands  in  a  night  would  startle  the  habitues  of  Sara- 
toga or  Baden-Baden.  With  nearly  all  frontiersmen 
gambling  is  a  passion,  and  some  of  them  are  the  most 
thoroughly  accomplished  members  of  the  card-dealing 
fraternity. 

The  man  who  shall  transfer  to  canvas  some  one  of  the 


THE   SONS    OF   THE   BORDER.  19* 

scenes  which  each  midnight  brings  to  the  inner  room  of 
the  trader's  store  in  a  New  Mexican  mining-camp,  and 
shall  do  it  well,  will  preserve  for  all  time  the  most  strik- 
ing feature  of  American  frontier  life.  We  shall  see  the 
dead  silence  and  rapt  attention  as  the  guttering  candles 
ilare  upon  each  sun-browned  and  grizzled  face,  the  hard 
hands  and  hairy  arms,  and  the  look  of  covert  exultation 
as  the  winner  draws  towards  him  the  coin  and  bags  of 
yellow  dust.  We  shall  read  the  quick  glance  which  sus- 
pects a  cheat,  and  the  deep  curse  which  records  a  mistake. 
And  standing  there,  almost  as  intent  as  the  players,  are 
they  who  watch  the  fascinating  passion  in  in  its  varying 
record  of  gain  and  loss.  The  dim  light  will  throw  the 
rough  beams  into  grim  indistinctness,  and  lurk  in  gro- 
tesque shadows  in  corners.  But  permeating  all — the 
essence  of  the  picture — will  be  that  ghastly  suggestion 
of  folly  and  ruin  which  mere  words  can  not  paint ;  that 
look  in  faces  which  tells  of  the  sacrifice  and  homeless- 
ness  and  toil  of  years  gone  in  a  night,  and  also  of  that 
bewitching  hope  which  waits  ever  upon  the  devotees  of 
the  god  of  chance,  the  end  of  which  is  despair,  broken 
hearts  and  death. 


CHUCK. 


IF  you  stand  upon  a  certain  bluff  on  the  south  side  of 
the  Arkansas  River  a  few  miles  above  the  mouth 
of  the  Purgatoire,  in  the  dawn  of  morning,  you  will  be 
the  spectator  of  a  scene  not  easily  forgotten  in  future 
wanderings.  Eastward  stretches  dimly  away  the  wind- 
ing, sedgy  valley  of  the  dreariest  river  of  the  west, — 
treeless,  sandy,  desolate.  All  around  you  are  the  endless 
undulations  of  the  wilderness.  Beneath  you  are  the  yet 
silent  camps  of  those  who  are  here  to-day  and  gone 
to-morrow.  Westward  is  something  you  anticipate 
rather  than  see  :  vague  and  misty  forms  lying  upon  the 
horizon.  But  while  the  world  is  yet  dark  below  and 
around  you,  and  there  is  scarce  the  faintest  tinge  of  gray 
in  the  east,  if  you  chance  to  look  northward  you  will  see 
something  crimson  high  up  against  the  sky.  At  first  it 
is  a  roseate  glow,  shapeless  and  undefined,  Then  it 
becomes  a  cloud-castle,  battlemented  and  inaccessible, 
draped  in  mist  and  hung  about  with  a  hovering  curtain 
of  changing  purple.  But  as  it  grows  whiter  and  clearer, 
the  vague  outlines  of  a  mighty  shape  appear  below  it, 
stretching  downward  toward  the  earth.  What  you  see 
is  the  lofty  pinnacle  which  has  gleamed  first  in  the  flying 
darkness,  sun-kissed  and  glorified  in  the  rosy  mornings 
of  all  the  centuries.  It  is  Pike's  Peak,  ninety  miles 
away. 

Perchance  before  you  turn  to  leave  the  spot  you  may 
mechanically  glance  at  your  immediate  surroundings.    If 


CHUCK.  21 

you  do,  you  will  have  before  you  at  once  the  two  great 
types  of  changelessness  and  frailty ;  for  at  your  feet, 
scarce  noticed  in  its  lonely  humility,  is  a  single  low  mound  r 
turfless  and  yellow,  unadorned  by  even  so  much  as  a 
cross  or  an  inscription,  but  telling,  nevertheless,  that  old 
story  in  which  no  man  needs  an  interpreter :  that  here 
rests  another  of  the  wanderers,  and  that  there  is  no  land 
so  lonely  that  it  has  not  its  graves. 

There  may  be  a  story  more  or  less  interesting,  con- 
nected with  every  one  of  the  unnumbered  graves  of  the 
Plains.  The  rough  lives  that  end  here  have  all  a  history. 
But  no  one  remembers  it.  Here,  as  in  busy  streets,  the 
lives  which  once  ended  are  deemed  worthy  of  remem- 
brance, are  few  and  far  between.  But  this  lone  and 
wind-kissed  mound  upon  the  hill-top,  albeit  unmarked 
and  seldom  seen,  has  about  it  an  interest  not  common  to 
the  rest,  for  it  is  the  grave  of  a  woman. 

Years  ago,  a  victim  of  the  nomadic  instinct  named 
Lemuel  Sims,  a  man  who  had  forsaken  his  home  in  the 
Missouri  bottoms  for  a  gold-hunting  journey  to  Califor- 
nia, and  who,  after  many  changes,  had  again  started  east- 
ward, was  finally  stranded  upon  the  banks  of  the  Arkan- 
sas, within  the  magic  circle  of  protection  around  old  Fort 
Lyon.  Sims  had  grown  middle-aged  in  wandering,  and 
had  consumed  almost  the  last  remains  of  that  dogged 
energy  in  migration  which  is  the  characteristic  of  his 
class,  by  the  time  he  reached  a  spot  than  which  it  would 
have  been  hard  to  find  one  more  utterly  wanting  in 
attractions.  But  he  was  not  alone,  for  he  had  a  wife  who 
had  been  his  companion  in  all  his  journeys,  and  three 
daughters,  who  had  irregularly  come  in  upon  his  vicissi- 
tudes. In  sending  those  guests  which  are  often  unwel- 
come but  never  turned  away,  the  old  man's  fates  had  not 


22  CHUCK. 

been  kind.  What  he  needed  was  boys, — boys  of  whom 
hereafter  should  be  made  the  ranchers,  the  Indian  fight- 
ers, the  hunters  and  the  poker-players  who  should  dili- 
gently follow  in  the  footsteps  of  their  wild  predecessors, 
.and  live  hard  and  die  suddenly. 

"When  Sims  came  to  his  last  residence,  the  order  of 
march  was  as  follows :  First,  Sims,  a  hundred  yards  in 
advance,  gun  in  hand ;  secondly,  two  mules  and  an  old 
wagon,  Mrs.  Sims  at  the  helm ;  thirdly,  three  cows,  four 
sheep,  four  dogs ;  and  behind  all,  two  freckled,  brawny 
moccasoned  girls.  The  third  and  youngest,  the  darling 
of  the  family, — too  young,  indeed,  for  service, — occupied 
a  cosy  nest  among  the  household  goods,  and  peeped  out 
from  beneath  the  tattered  cover,  plump,  saucy,  and  child- 
ishly content.  She  had  acquired  the  name  of  Chuck, 
abbreviated  from  chicquita, — "  little  one," — and  amid  all 
the  changes  which  befell  her  thereafter,  the  name  clung 
to  her  as  part  of  herself. 

The* Sims  "outfit"  was  only  an  integral  portion  of  a 
cavalcade  of  such,  strong  enough  for  all  purposes  of 
society  and  defence.  Months  had  passed  since  the  fam- 
ily began  this  last  move.  The  long  summer  days  had 
passed,  and  the  nipping  nights  and  scanty  pasturage  were 
the  cause  of  the  premature  ending  of  the  journey.  Hav- 
ing stopped  only  for  a  night,  they  had  concluded  to  stay 
until  spring,  or  some  other  time  when  a  spasm  of  the 
migratory  disease  should  seize  them.  But  the  rough 
house  of  cottonwood  logs  Sims  made  with  the  help  of 
his  family,  was  in  a  sheltered  nook  which  soon  became 
home-like.  There  was  game  in  abundance,  and  what 
was  not  immediately  consumed  the  old  man  exchanged 
for  groceries  at  the  post.  What  was  still  more  fortunate, 
Sim's  .house  was  near  the  route  of  travel,  and  he  could 


CHUCK.  23 

indulge  his  love  of  gossip,  as  well  as  furnish  an  occa- 
sional meal  to  travellers.  "When  spring  came,  the  stock 
had  grown  fat,  and,  save  the  mules,  had  increased  in 
numbers  a  hundred  fold.  Impelled  by  the  force  of  cir- 
cumstances, a  small  garden  was  enclosed,  and  it  came 
about  that  by  June  the  frontiersman  and  his  family  found 
themselves  prospering  beyond  anything  in  their  past  his- 
tory. The  shanty  took  upon  itself  the  dignity  of  a 
ranche ;  and  in  truthfulness  it  is  necessary  to  state  that 
the  commodity  which  met  the  readiest  and  most  profit- 
able sale  was  a  fluid  which,  chemically  considered,  it  were 
slanderous  to  call  whiskey.  "  Simsis  "  became  known 
far  and  wide,  and  the  proprietor  began  to  think  himself 
gaining  upon  the  world,  both  in  money  and  fame, — two 
things  which,  in  the  unfortunate  constitution  of  society, 
are  not  sufficiently  distributed.  But  this  new  era  of  pros- 
perity was  not  due  to  Sims's  management.  It  grew  main- 
ly out  of  the  fact  that  he  had  three  daughters.  The  unfor- 
tunate constitution  of  the  family  was  the  direct  cause  of 
its  unwonted  thrift.  Any  white  woman  in  such  a  place 
is  an  enticement  not  to  be  resisted  by  the  average  Plains- 
man, and  "  Sims's  gals"  were  celebrities  over  an  extent 
of  country  as  large  as  the  State  of  New  York. 

But  as  time  passed  and  the  small  herds  increased,  the 
females  became  objects  of  a  still  profounder  interest. 
They  were  spoken  of  as  heiresses.  Nevertheless,  at  the 
pinch,  no  amount  of  money  could  have  married  either  of 
the  two  eldest  daughters.  They  were  tall,  gaunt  and 
coarse.  They  were  as  ignorant  as  Eve,  and  had  per- 
formed the  duties  of  masculinity  so  long  that  either  of 
them  was  nearly  a  match  for  a  cinnamon  bear.  Not  so 
with  the  youngest.  The  most  courtly  and  polished  dames 
in  the  land  have  seldom  displayed  as  much  in  the  way  of 


24  CHUCK. 

personal  endowment  as  this  one  rose  among  the  thistles. 
Fair-skinned  and  blue-eyed,  strong  and  graceful,  petted 
from  infancy  and  nurtured  in  comparative  ease,  healthful 
in  sentiment  as  in  body,  she  was  a  special  attraction,  and 
came  seldom  in  contact  with  the  rough  characters  who 
frequented  her  father's  house.  And  she  had  the  mind  of 
the  family.  Her  opinions  were  the  law  of  the  house, 
and  she  occupied  her  autocratic  position  without  embar- 
rassment and  ruled  without  check.  Old  Sims  was  her 
man-servant,  and  her  mother  was  only  a  privileged  asso- 
ciate and  adviser.  As  for  her  huge  sisters,  they  contin- 
ually rebelled  and  always  obeyed.  There  is  a  myster- 
ious law  of  primogeniture  by  which  children  sometimes 
embody  the  characteristics  of  distant  ancestors,  and  dis- 
carding the  nearer  family  traits  and  circumstances, 
reproduce  the  vices  and  virtues  which  are  long  forgotten, 
and  the  countenances  which  have  been  mouldering  for  a 
century.  There  must  have  been  some  rare  old  blood  in 
the  Sims  family,  for  this  last  scion  of  a  race  which  had 
been  subjected  to  all  the  influences  of  the  frontier, — 
hardship  and  toil  in  the  Alleghanies,  ague  and  laziness  in 
the  Missouri  bottoms,  and  poverty  always, — was  totally 
unlike  her  family  and  her  surroundings.  The  sprawling 
feet,  gaunt  limbs,  great  brown  hands,  coarse  complexions 
and  carroty  hair  of  her  sisters  and  mother  were  things 
they  had  apart.  Nobody  knew  or  ever  asked  how  Chuck 
had  learned  to  read,  or  became  possessed  of  certain  well- 
thumbed  books  and  stray  newspapers.  ~No  one  ever 
inquired  into  the  mystery  of  how  her  garments  came  to 
fit  her  round  figure  with  a  neatness  which  was  a  miracle 
to  the  uninitiated,  or  why  the  yellow  coils  lay  so  grace- 
upon  her  shapely  head.  Finally,  the  pervading  force 
which  directed  all  things  in  and  around  the  ranche  came 


CHUCK.  25 

to  be  almost  unquestioned.  A  beauty  with  a  will  is  a 
power :  a  beauty  with  brains  and  a  will  is  the  most  com- 
plete of  despots. 

The  Sims  family  had  been  five  years  in  this  locality, 
and  mainly  through  the  ability  of  the  youngest  child, 
now  a  mature  woman,  aided  by  the  circumstance  of  a 
fortunate  location,  had  acquired  cattle,  money  and  respect- 
ability. The  money  and  the  respectability  were  easily 
cared  for,  because  Chuck  carried  them  both  upon  her 
person ;  but  the  herd  which  was  gathered  nightly  into 
the  corral  was  the  lure  of  final  destruction.  The  charmed 
circle  of  safety  which  was  drawn  around  the  military 
post  was  an  indefinite  and  uncertain  one,  and  the  incur- 
sions of  Apaches  are  governed  by  no  conventionality. 
After  long  delay,  and  frequent  smaller  thefts,  came  the 
final  swoop  which  took  all. 

Old  Sims  and  Chuck  started  to  go  to  the  post.  The 
presence  of  the  latter  was  necessary  to  keep  the  former 
from  getting  drunk  and  falling  into  the  hands  of  military 
minions,  to  be  incarcerated  in  the  guard-house.  In  the 
perfect  peacefulness  and  serenity  of  the  early  morning, 
it  seemed  impossible  that  danger  and  death  could  lie  in 
wait  so  near.  As  the  old  man  dug  his  heels  into  the 
flanks  of  his  mule,  and  Chuck  looked  complacently  back 
from  her  seat  upon  a  pony  only  less  wilful  than  his  rider, 
the  two  little  dreamed  that  it  was  the  last  time  they  were 
ever  to  see  "  Sims's  Ranehe." 

As  they  threaded  their  way  along  the  intricacies  of  the 
trail,  Chuck  of  course  in  the  lead,  the  old  man  labored 
diligently  to  bring  out  the  capacities  of  of  his  mule 
wherever  the  path  was  wide  enough  to  permit  his  riding 
beside  his  daughter.  In  truth  he  had  something  to  say 
to  her  concerning  those  matters  in  which  girls  are  always 
3 


26  CHUCK. 

interested  and  about  which  they  are  always  unwilling  to 
talk.  A  confidential  conversation  with  his  daughter  was 
one  of  Sims's  ungratified  ambitions, — a  thing  which  in 
late  years  he  had  often  attempted  and  as  often  failed  in 
accomplishing.  She  cared  for  him,  was  kind  and  loving, 
but  seemed  to  have  no  ideas  in  common  with  him  ;  and 
do  what  he  would  this  morning,  he  could  not  keep  pace 
with  her.  When  two  persons  are  thus  together  there  is 
frequently  an  unconscious  idea  of  the  thoughts  of  one  in 
the  mind  of  the  other,  and  the  girl  kept  steadily  ahead. 
But  the  subject  was  one  which  weighed  upon  the  old 
man's  mind,  and  despairing  of  nearer  approach  he  pres- 
ently called  out  from  behind  : 

"Chuck?" 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ? "  came  from  the  depths  of  the  sun- 
bonnet  in  front. 

"  I  want  ter  know,  now,  honest,  what  yer  goin'  to  do 
with  them  two  fellers  which  air  one  or  t'  other  of  em  allus 
'round  our  house  lookin'  fur  you.  It  looks  as  though 
Sairey,  bein'  the  oldest,  shud  hev  some  kind  of  a  chance, 
— and  she  did  afore  you  growed  up, — but  I  rec'on,  now, 
there's  no  use  thinkin'  uv  that  till  you  're  gone.  Now, 
as  atween  these  fellers,  I'd  like  to  know" — and  plain- 
tively— "  'pears  to  me  like  I've  a  right  to  know,  which  uv 
'em  you're  goin'  to  take.  I  cudent  be  long  a  choosin'  ef 
't  was  me.  Wy,  Tom  Harris  is  big  an'  hansum,  and 
rides  forty  mile  every  week  fur  to  git  a  sight  uv  ye.  I 
kin  tell  frum  that  feller's  looks  that  he'd  swim  the 
Arkansaw  and  fight  anything  fur  ye." 

The  face  in  the  sun-bonnet  grew  red  as  a  pansy  at  the 
mention  of  the  name ;  but  the  old  man  did  not  see  that, 
and  he  continued : 

"  But  I'm  mainly  oneasy  on  account  of  there  bein'  two 


CHUCK.  27 

sich.  When  Tom  an'  the  slick-lookin'  feller  from  Max- 
well's is  there  at  the  same  time,  they  passes  looks  which 
means  everything  that  two  sich  fellers  can  do  fur  to  win. 
1  don't  like  t'  other  feller;  neither  does  the  old  woman. 
He'd  do  a'most  anything,  in  my  opinion,  an'  if  you  don't 
make  choice  atween  'em  soon  them  fellers  '11  fight,  and 
that's  sartin." 

The  face,  which  had  been  rosy,  grew  slightly  pale  as 
he  talked.  The  old  man  had  told  his  daughter  nothing 
she  did  not  already  know ;  but  she  was  startled  to  think 
that  the  hatred  of  the  two  men  had  been  noticed  by 
another.  The  question  in  Chuck's  heart  was  not  which 
of  the  two  men  she  would  take,  but  how  to  get  rid  of  the 
disappointed  one.  Therefore,  woman  like,  she  had 
encouraged  neither  of  them.  To  her  acute  mind  the 
difficulty  had  been  a  trouble  for  weeks,  and  the  words  of 
her  father  were  a  fresh  cause  for  disquiet. 

Old  Sims,  having  thus  broken  the  ice  would  have  con- 
tinued, but  his  daughter  stopped  him  with  an  exclama- 
tion, and  pointed  to  the  sand  at  their  feet.  Sims  ap- 
proached and  peered  cautiously  at  the  spot  his  daughter 
indicated.  There  they  were,  not  an  hour  old,  the  ugly 
inturned  moccason-tracks  of  four,  eight,  a  dozen  Indians. 
In  a  woman,  timidity  and  wit  are  often  companions  to 
each  other,  and  Chuck  drew  in  her  horse  with  a  deter- 
mined air.  "I  don't  like  that,"  said  she;  "  I'm  going 
back.  It  can  do  us  no  harm  if  the  herd  is  driven  home, 
and  I  want  to  see  it  done ;"  and  she  turned  her  horse. 

"  Wy  now,"  said  Sims,  "  what's  the  use  ?  Sich  things 
aint  oncommon, — come  on." 

"  You  can  go  alone  if  you  think  best,"  she  answered. 

Before  he  could  reply  she  was  gone,  and  irritated  by 
what  he  considered  a  useless  panic,  he  doggedly  con- 


28  CHUCK. 

tinued  his  journey  toward  the  post.  The  sight  of  an 
Indian-trail  eight  miles  from  home  seemed  a  poor  cause 
for  fright,  even  in  a  woman,  Sims  thought  as  he  con- 
tinued his  journey :  and  it  was  not  that  which  caused  her 
to  retreat;  it  was  to  avoid  being  questioned  further  upon 
the  topic  he  had  broached.  "  Cur'us  critters  is  wimmin," 
he  said  to  himself  as  he  jogged  on. 

Sims  spent  that  night,  unconscious  of  its  horrors,  happy 
drunk  in  the  post  guard-house. 

An  apprehension  which  she  could  hardly  understand,, 
filled  the  mind  of  the  girl  as  she  urged  her  pony  toward 
home.  Her  father's  talk  added  to  her  excitement,  and 
she  thought  of  what  Tom  Harris,  strong,  daring  and 
handsome,  would  be  at  such  a  time.  His  tall  figure, 
cheery  face  and  handsome  dress,  as  he  sat  on  his  horse 
at  her  father's  door,  blithe  and  fresh  after  his  ride  of 
forty  miles  for  her  sake,  came  vividly  before  her.  Even 
in  the  midst  of  her  anxiety  and  nervousness  she  felt  that 
she  and  Tom,  united  in  purpose  and  effort,  could  do 
anything  in  this  world.  Such  were  the  strong  woman's 
thoughts  of  a  man  whom  she  loved  because  he  was  even 
stronger  than  she. 

Two  miles  from  home,  and  the  rider's  heart  sank  at 
the  sight  of  a  column  of  smoke  on  the  verge  of  the 
familiar  horizon.  Frightened  indeed,  now,  she  urged 
her  pony  to  his  utmost,  and  at  the  crest  of  the  hill  that 
overlooked  the  nook  in  which  stood  her  home,  the  truth 
burst  upon  her  that  while  her  father  had  talked  to  her  of 
her  lovers,  and  while  she  was  yet  speculating  upon  the 
foot  prints  in  the  sand,  the  Indian  torch  was  being  ap- 
plied, and  now  herds,  house,  mother  and  sisters  were  all 
gone. 

Amid  all  the  conflicting  griefs  and  terrors  of  the  mo- 


CHUCK.  29 

ment,  arose  an  overwhelming  sense  of  utter  loneliness 
and  helplessness.  The  beautiful  and  subtle  strength  of 
a  woman  may  guide,  but  it  can  neither  guard  or  revenge. 
There  seemed  no  help,  and  the  girl  wished  in  her  heart 
she  had  gone  with  the  rest.  But  she  was  not  so  entirely 
alone,  for  as  she  came  nearer  she  saw  the  tall  figure  of 
Tom  Harris,  newly  alighted  from  an  all-night  ride,  stand- 
ing by  his  panting  horse,  so  entirely  occupied  with  a 
despairing  contemplation  of  the  smouldering  ruins  that 
he  had  not  as  yet  noticed  her  approach.  But  when  he 
turned  and  recognized  her,  his  grim  face  took  color  like 
a  flash.  In  truth,  Tom's  paleness  was  not  the  pallor  of 
fear.  Words  were  inadequate  to  express  the  tone  in 
which  he  had  cursed  the  Apaches,  by  all  that  was  holy 
and  all  that  was  evil,  as  he  stood  contemplating  the 
burning  house,  and  thinking  with  a  pang  which  pene- 
trated his  very  soul  that  she  was  among  the  victims.  But 
when  he  heard,  then  turned  and  saw  her,  all  was  thence- 
forth fair  and  serene  to  Tom  Harris.  With  a  frontiers- 
man's quick  perception  of  circumstances  and  situations 
of  this  kind,  he  understood  and  asked  no  questions. 

"  The  'Paches  are  clear  gone  with  everything,  Miss," 
he  said.  "  They  must  a'  done  it  in  ten  minits.  Come, 
git  down  now,  won't  ye  ?  That  pony's  about  done  for, 
and —  W'y,  now,  Miss,  't  aint  no  use  grievin.'  Ye 
can't  bring  'em  back,  and  ye  can't  catch  the  Injuns, — 
not  to-day.  I'll  be  even  with  'em  if  I  live,  but  I've 
knowed  a  many  sich  things  in  my  time,  and — " 

Tom  stopped,  for  he  had  a  sense  of  how  tame  and 
meaningless  his  rude  efforts  at  comfort  were  to  the  silent 
and  horror-stricken  woman  before  him,  whose  whole 
soul  seemed  engrossed  in  a  struggle  with  the  calamity 
which  had  befallen  her.  The  well-meaning  fellow  went 


30  CHUCK. 

some  distance  apart  and  waited.  And  while  he  waited, 
the  white  despairing  face  grew  still  whiter,  and  she 
slipped  helplessly  from  the  pony  and  lay  a  limp  and  life- 
less heap  upon  the  ground.  This  was  the  time  of  the 
frontiersman's  utter  despair.  In  all  his  life's  vicissitudes 
there  had  been  none  like  this.  But  all  his  endeavors 
were  the  sensible  ones  of  a  practical  man.  He  knew 
nothing  of  what  he  ought  to  do  for  the  restoration  of 
lost  consciousness,  and  was  afraid  to  try.  But  with  the 
celerity  of  habit  he  stripped  the  thick  blankets  from  his 
horse  and  the  pony,  and  hurriedly  spread  them  in  the 
shade  by  the  bankside.  Then  he  made  a  pillow  of  his 
saddle,  and  with  a  blush  that  rose  to  his  temples,  and  a 
thrill  which  went  to  his  finger-ends,  he  lifted  the  girl, 
and  strong  as  he  was,  fairly  staggering  under  the  burden, 
laid  her  upon  the  couch  he  had  made.  He  took  his  own 
soft  serape,  with  its  crimson  stripes,  and  spread  it  for  a 
covering ;  filled  his  canteen  and  placed  it  near  her ;  and 
then  sat  down  afar  off  and  picked  holes  in  the  ground 
with  his  long  knife,  and  whistled  softly,  and  sighed  and 
groaned  within  himself.  Tom  loved  the  woman  who  lay 
there,  and  because  he  loved  her  he  was  afraid  of  her. 
Most  men  experience  the  same  feeling  once  in  their  lives. 
But  there  had  been  another  and  an  unseen  spectator  of 
all  this.  We  can  not  tell  by  what  peculiar  conjunction  of 
the  planets  things  fall  out  in  this  world  as  they  do.  But 
while  Tom  was  executing  his  plans  of  comfort  the  "  slick- 
lookin'  feller  from  Maxwell's  "  was  watching  afar  off. 
He  came  no  nearer,  because  he  did  not  at  first  understand 
the  situation.  The  burning  building  suggested  Indians, 
and  he  wanted  no  closer  acquaintance  with  them,  should 
they  still  be  there.  But  while  he  watched  he  saw  and 
recognized  the  two  persons,  and  a  pang  of  jealousy  entered 


CHUCK.  31 

liis  heart.  Then  he  stayed  away  because  he  desired  to 
husband  for  future  misrepresentation  and  use  the  circum- 
stances to  which  he  had  been  an  unseen  witness,  and 
finally  rode  away,  baffled,  pondering  in  his  cowardly  heart 
some  scheme  which  could  harm  his  formidable  rival. 

The  afternoon  passed  slowly  away,  snd  still  Tom  Har- 
ris kept  watch.  Occasionally  he  crept  on  tiptoe  and 
looked  at  his  charge.  She  seemed  asleep.  Finally  he 
hobbled  the  two  horses  to  prevent  escape,  gathered  some 
of  the  vegetables  in  the  desolate  garden,  and  stifled  a 
strong  man's  hunger  with  young  radishes,  green  tomatoes 
and  oilless  lettuce.  He  could  afford  to  wait,  for  he  was 
engaged  in  what  he  wondered  to  think  was,  in  the  midst 
of  the  smoking  signs  of  rapine  and  captivity,  the  most 
delightful  task  of  his  life.  He  did  not  know  that  hours 
ago  the  occupant  of  the  couch  had  opened  her  eyes,  and 
with  returning  consciousness  had  touched  the  crimson- 
barred  serape ;  had  seen  the  stalwart  sentinel  sitting  afar 
off,  and  then  had  fallen  into  the  deep  slumber  of  grief. 

Through  the  long  watches  of  the  night  the  sleepless 
frontiersman  passed  back  and  forth,  listening  to  the  chat- 
ter of  the  coyote  and  the  gray  wolf  7s  long-drawn  howl. 
He  scared  away  the  stealthy  footsteps  of  the  prowlers  of 
the  night,  and  listened  and  waited.  Anon  he  crept  close 
to  the  side  of  the  couch  and  listened  for  the  breathing  of 
the  sleeper ;  then  crept  away  again  with  the  happy  con- 
sciousness that  he  and  love  had  all  the  wilderness  to  them- 
selves. 

In  the  early  morning  he  heard  the  clank  of  sabres  and 
the  hum  of  voices ;  and  a  troop  of  cavalry  appeared  from 
the  post,  and  among  them  Old  Sims,  red-eyed  and  trem- 
bling, but  sobered  by  apprehension  and  grief.  The  man 
from  Maxwell's  had  told  of  the  raid  at  the  post,  and  he 


32  CHUCK. 

had  reasons  of  his  own  for  doing  so.  They  left  men  and 
means  for  the  conveying  of  the  woman  back  to  the  post, 
and  Old  Sims  returned  with  her.  As  for  Tom,  the  sol- 
diers gave  him  something  to  eat,  and  he  mounted  his 
horse  and  accompanied  them  upon  the  trail.  His  step 
was  as  light  and  his  heart  as  merry  as  though  he  had 
slept  in  his  bed,  for  as  he  looked  back  the  last  time  the 
face  he  saw  was  sad  and  white,  but  the  eyes  were  the 
eyes  of  a  woman  who  looks  after  one  she  loves. 

Frail  of  body  but  strong  of  purpose,  the  unconquer- 
able spirit  of  Old  Sims's  daughter  employed  itself  in  di- 
recting the  erection  of  a  house  upon  the  spot  which  had 
been  so  long  a  home.  In  less  than  a  month  she  and  Sims 
were  again  established  in  the  prarie  nook,  in  a  cabin  not 
differing  materially  from  the  former,  but  surrounded  by 
a  palisade  which  bade  defiance  to  Indian  assault.  The 
couple  were  not  poor,  and  while  the  old  man  drowned 
the  past  in  half-drunk  inanity,  the  dependents  of  the  house 
did  the  work  the  two  daughters  had  once  done.  Chuck, 
stately  and  sad,  but  softened,  seemed  daily  to  wait  and 
watch  for  something  which  never  came,  and  of  which  she 
never  spoke.  The  troops  with  which  Tom  Harris  went 
away  had  returned.  They  told  of  a  day's  running  fight, 
which  was  duly  mentioned  in  general-orders,  but  in  which 
they  had  suffered  no  losses.  If  Tom  had  returned  to  his 
place,  why  did  he  not  come  again  so  Sims's  Ranch? 
Chuck  said  to  herself.  And  then  there  was  his  beautiful 
serape ;  he  might  even  come  for  that.  But  he  did  not. 
The  man  from  Maxwell's  did  come ;  and  so  placid  was  his 
reception  that  he  went  away  again  with  bitterness  in  his 
heart.  He  came  again.  The  pale-faced  woman  had 
drooped  a  little,  he  thought,  and  cared  even  less  for  his 
distinguished  company  than  before.  But  even  while  she 


CHUCK.  33 

•cooled  his  ardor  with  a  grand  dignity,  she  seemed  wait- 
ing for  some  one  to  come  in,  and  listening  for  some  foot- 
step. But  lately  this  man  had  become  the  possessor  of 
a  secret  which  filled  his  heart  with  exultation.  He  learned 
it  at  the  post,  where  it  was  mentioned  by  careless  soldiers, 
ignorant  of  its  fearful  import.  The  loss  of  a  man  is  noth- 
ing, and  the  few  of  them  who  had  been  lately  at  Sims's 
did  not  even  know  of  the  fact.  The  only  circumstance 
about  the  affair  at  all  remarkable  in  the  eyes  of  those 
sons  of  Mars  was,  that  a  man  whose  name  was  hardly 
known  and  now  not  remembered,  who  went  with  them 
only  "  for  fun  "  and  through  a  peculiar  hatred  of  Apaches, 
should  be  the  only  man  to  fall.  True,  he  was  foremost ; 
was  a  splendid-looking  fellow ;  and  they  thought  it  a  pity, 
and  buried  him  where  he  fell.  Therefore  this  suitor  of 
Sims's  daughter,  possessed  with  the  cunning  which  some- 
times defeats  itself,  bethought  him  of  this  chance  shot,  and 
deemed  that  if  it  did  him  no  good  it  might  at  least  wound 
the  placidity  which  he  hated.  So  one  day  as  he  stood  at 
the  door,  smarting  under  a  cool  reception  and  no  good- 
bye at  all,  he  remarked  to  Sims : 

"  Seems  to  me,  old  man,  you  and  yer  darter  ia  waitin' 
for  suthin'  that'll  never  come.  She  need  n't  slight  me 
a-waitin'  fur  better  company.  Tom  Harris  was  killed  by 
the  'Paches  which  burned  yer  shanty ;  an'  that's  a  fact 
ye  kin  think  uv  at  yer  leisure."  And  he  laughed  to  him- 
self like  a  hyena  as  he  went  away. 

Old  Sims  staggered  into  the  house  where  his  daughter 
sat,  and  dropped  into  a  seat.  Even  his  weak  mind  had 
a  conception  of  the  fatefulness  of  the  tidings  he  bore,  and 
he  hesitated  in  the  task  of  disclosure. 

"  Chuck,"  he  said,  "  do  you  'member  that  day  you 
found  the  Injun-trail?" 


34  cnacK. 

She  started,  and  nodded  assent. 

"Do  ye  'member  my  talk  about  them  two  lovers  o' 
yourn  ?  Eh  ?  Well,  Tom  ain't  a-comin'  any  more,  'cause 
he's — now  I  can 't  help  it  darter, — Tom 's  dead  /" 

She  must  have  known  it  in  her  heart  before,  she 
changed  so  slightly  at  the  word.  Perhaps  she  had  only 
hoped  against  hope,  having  long  ago  learned,  as  she  lay 
on  the  couch  he  had  made  for  her  through  that  summer 
night,  that  the  man  whose  heart  had  then  been  measured 
in  the  strength  and  sleeplessness  and  honor  and  courage 
of  a  great  love,  would  have  returned  had  he  been  alive. 
She  only  rose  and  tottered  to  the  bedside,  whose  top- 
most cover  was  a  serape;  but  she  never  left  it  again. 
The  one  mighty  love  of  a  life  in  whose  sordid  surround- 
ings it  was  the  one  glimpse  of  something  brighter  and 
happier,  was  as  much  a  reality  as  though  it  had  been 
plighted  a  thousand  times.  Perhaps  the  ancestral  cour- 
age and  hope  which  had  come  to  her  through  such  degen- 
erate veins  helped  her  to  die. 

That  life  is  complete  which  has  in  it  only  the  remem- 
brance of  a  passion  such  as  this.  If  we  lived  a  century 
we  should  get  no  more,  for  the  sublimities  of  life  are  ever 
incomplete.  The  bright,  strong  face  which  had  looked 
back  at  her  so  hopefully  in  the  saddle-leap,  a  few  weeks 
ago,  was  still  hers.  What  wonder  that  since  he  could 
not  come  to  her, — to  the  house  that,  with  a  strong  woman's 
fancy,  she  had  built  for  him  to  protect  her  in, — she 
should  go  to  his. 


NEW   MEXICAN    COMMON    LIFE. 

THERE  is  a  country  far  to  the  south-west  in  which 
everything  is  crude,  new  and  undeveloped ;  where 
the  evidences  of  enterprise  and  the  settlements  of  white 
men  are  few ;  but  which  is,  notwithstanding,  the  seat  of 
an  ancient  and  Christian  civilization,  whose  Capital  is  the 
oldest  town  in  America  but  one. 

Several  centuries  have  elapsed  since  the  Spanish  tongue 
and  the  Catholic  faith  became  recognized  and  accustomed 
institutions  in  New  Mexico.  They  antedate  the  settle- 
ment of  Jamestown  and  the  romance  of  Pocahontas. 
The  then  mighty  Spanish  power  had  founded  a  govern- 
ment here  before  the  City  of  New  York  had  passed  from 
the  hands  of  its  Dutch  founders.  The  roads  and  moun- 
tain passes  which  are  traveled  with  such  precaution  now 
were  the  routes  of  trade  long  before  the  first  wagon-road 
had  been  made  across  the  Alleghanies.  While  the  Dela- 
wares  and  the  Hurons  were  still  fighting  to  hold  their 
ancient  possessions  on  the  Eastern  coast  against  the  ag- 
gressions of  the  white  men,  the  aborigines  of  this  coun- 
try had  long  been  converted  to  Slavery  and  Christianity ; 
always  excepting  those  tribes  whose  hands  are  against 
every  man,  and  who  were  then,  as  they  are  now,  the 
scourge  of  civilization.  There  are  churches  here  in  which 
the  disciples  of  Loyola  said  mass  more  than  two  hundred 
years  ago,  and  mines  whose  shafts  have  been  closed  almost 
three  centuries. 

But  interesting  as  the  history  of  this  strange  country  is, 
the  New  Mexico  and  the  New  Mexican  of  to-day  are  much 


36  NEW  MEXICAN  COMMON  LIFE. 

more  so.  The  very  names  of  the  ancient  towns  whose 
walls  are  now  grass-grown  ridges  of  earth,  have  passed 
away  with  their  inhabitants.  Almost  the  last  vestige  of 
the  civilization  of  conquest  is  gone.  All  that  the  Mexi- 
can now  knows  he  could  easily  have  learned  since  the 
country  came  under  the  control  of  the  United  States,  and 
in  the  comparatively  short  time  during  which  American 
enterprise  has  had  a  foothold.  Everywhere,  even  in 
places  now  so  wild  and  so  nearly  inaccessible  that  they 
will  be  among  the  last  reclaimed,  there  are  dim  signs  of 
&  curious  past,  which  has  gone  without  monuments  and 
without  a  history. 

The  great  feature  of  the  country,  geographically,  is 
mountains — nothing  but  mountains.  They  are  not  the  pic- 
turesque and  tree-clad  hills  of  the  East,  but  are  bold  and 
bare  and  brown,  and  piled  peak  upon  peak,  with  the 
plateaux  lying  hidden  between,  for  hundreds  of  silent  and 
desolate  miles.  Here  and  there  is  a  stream,  or  a  marshy 
spring,  and  sometimes  a  cluster  of  huts  in  the  midst  of  a 
few  fertile  acres.  But  on  every  hand  the  rugged  peaks 
cut  a  frowning  outline  against  a  sky  the  bluest  and  fair- 
est in  the  world.  These  mountains  are,  however,  the 
repositories  in  which  lie  locked  immense  and  varied  sup- 
plies of  mineral  wealth,  mostly  undeveloped,  and  proba- 
bly undiscovered.  And  they  are  not  without  inhabitants, 
for  they  are  the  domain,  the  inaccessible  and  chosen  home, 
of  the  Apache.  None  but  the  Apache  knows  them,  and 
none  but  he  would  be  able  to  find  sustenance  there. 

The  centres  of  life  and  trade  in  the  country  are  the 
small  towns  in  the  great  valley  of  the  Eio  Grande,  for 
miles  along  whose  sandy,  insect-haunted  stream  contin- 
uous villages  extend.  There  are  also  settlements  which 
live  under  the  shadow  and  protection  of  the  military  posts. 


NEW  MEXICAN  COMMON  LIFE.  87 

Places  most  dangerous  and  remote  are  naturally  the  loca- 
tion of  the  military,  and  it  is  curious  to  note  how  soon  a 
small  settlement  will  grow  up  among  the  mountains  or 
beside  some  spring  under  the  auspices  of  military  pro- 
tection. 

It  is  a  land  where  nature  in  all  her  forms  seems  to  de- 
light in  coarseness  and  ruggedness.  Every  shrub  is- 
thorny,  and  every  undeveloped  twig  has  a  horny  and 
needle-like  point.  The  flowers  are  few,  and  of  trees  there 
are  none  save  those  which  grow  sparsely  on  the  banks  of 
the  streams.  But  there  is  an  interminable  wilderness  of 
mezquit,  a  thorny  and  ugly  shrub,  whose  beans  furnish  a 
staple  article  of  savage  food,  whose  roots  are  fuel,  and 
from  whose  tough  branches  are  made  the  bows  which,  in 
the  hands  of  an  Apache,  so  often  send  an  unexpected  and 
noiseless  death  to  the  traveler. 

From  all  there  is  in  geography,  and  from  any  discussion 
of  resources  and  prospects,  all  of  which  claim  their  share 
of  interest  for  the  future,  and  have  already  been  more  or 
less  accurately  described,  we  turn  to  that  which  is  always 
a  central  point  of  interest  in  a  strange  land,  the  character 
and  habits  of  its  people. 

In  the  question  of  the  original  annexation  of  the  im- 
mense territory,  a  part  of  which  included  New  Mexico, 
to  the  United  States,  there  were  no  more  uninterested 
people  than  the  New  Mexicans  themselves.  They  are  not 
of  that  class  who  of  their  own  accord  long  for  freedom 
and  sigh  for  the  privilege  of  self-government.  The  dif- 
ference between  the  rule  of  a  government  that  for  so 
many  years  has  been  alternately  an  anarchy  and  a  mon- 
archy, and  one  whose  great  struggle  for  life  was  fought 
out  almost  unheard  on  these  far  shores,  is  one  upon  which 
thfe  Mexican  never  speculates,  and  which  it  is  doubtful  if 


38  NEW  MEXICAN  COMMON  LIFE. 

he  ever  perceived.  To  him,  acclimated  as  he  has  been 
by  more  than  three  centuries  of  residence  in  the  Western 
world,  still  cling  the  peculiar  characteristics  of  the  Latin 
race.  All  around  him  has  changed.  The  power  which 
sent  his  ancestors  across  the  sea  has  long  since  sunk  under 
the  slow  disease  of  which  old  monarchies  linger  and  die. 
The  traditions  of  his  country  and  his  race  are  lost  to  him. 
His  land  has  long  since  been  invaded  by  Yankee  domin- 
ion. He  has  seen  the  people  who  are  here  today  and 
gone  tomorrow,  the  weary  and  poverty-stricken  gold 
hunter  and  the  adventurer  of  every  name  and  class,  and 
they  have  smitten  him  with  their  vices  and  taught  him 
none  of  their  virtues.  The  alert  and  vivacious  Anglo- 
Saxon  has  established  himself  at  the  principal  corners  in 
his  villages;  has  brought  him  in  contact  with  new  ideas 
and  a  new  language ;  has  changed  the  ancient  real  and 
doubloon  into  paper  promises,  printed  in  green;  and 
withal,  derides  his  priest  and  laughs  at  his  ceremonies. 
But  through  all,  the  Mexican  clings  unmoved  to  his  re- 
ligion, his  language  and  his  peculiar  social  life.  The 
plough  with  which  he  tediously  prepares  the  soil  is  just 
such  a  one  as  was  used  in  egypt  in  the  days  of  the  Patri- 
archs. His  oxen  are  yoked  with  thongs  binding  the 
straight  piece  of  wood  to  the  horns  as  was  done  in  VirgiPs 
time.  He  harvests  his  grain  with  a  sickle  of  iron,  dull 
and  toothless  as  that  held  by  Ceres  herself.  The  wild 
hay  upon  the  swale  or  the  mountain-side  he  is  content  to 
cut  with  a  hoe,  and  carry  home  upon  the  back  of  a  dimin- 
utive donkey.  The  irregular,  straggling  and  squalid  vil- 
lage in  which  he  lives  is  ancient  beyond  memory,  and  in 
its  crooked  streets  generations  of  his  ancestors  have  lived 
and  walked,  and  left  it  unchanged.  The  bells  which 
swing  and  jangle  on  an  iron  bar  upon  his  church-gable, 


NEW  MEXICAN  COMMON  LIFE.  39 

are  pious  gifts  manufactured  in  Spain  a  hundred  years 
ago,  and  presented  by  dead  and  forgotten  Cardinals. 
The  Spanish  ancestor  was  remarkable  for  his  highly  cul- 
tivated qualities  of  hatred,  jealousy  and  revenge.  His 
descendant  is  remarkable  only  for  placidity.  The  su- 
preme content  with  which  the  Mexican  sits  upon  the 
sheep-skin  in  front  of  his  door  and  watches  the  current 
of  surrounding  life,  the  satisfaction  he  seems  to  take  in 
a  life  which  has  in  it  only  the  humblest  lot  and  the  hard- 
est fare,  is  nowhere  else  to  be  found  in  nervous,  restless, 
wandering  America. 

As  might  be  inferred,  the  class  which  comes  first  and 
oftenest  under  the  observation  of  the  traveller  is  the 
common  one.  But  it  must  not  be  imagined  that  there 
are  no  gradations  in  society.  Here  and  there  through 
the  country  there  are  pretentious  houses,  whose  doors 
are  closed  to  the  common  villager,  and  whose  Dons  and 
Senoras  hold  themselves  aloof  from  common  contamina- 
tion. These  are  the  thoroughbreds,  who,  amid  these 
strange  surroundings,  trace  back  a  lineage  which  had  its 
origin  among  the  knights  and  ladies  of  Arragon.  In  this 
wilderness  exclusiveness,  what  dreams  of  renewed  Span- 
ish power,  what  regrets  for  departed  splendor,  are  in- 
dulged in,  none  know.  But  sometimes  the  necessities 
of  life  induce  intercourse  with  the  commandant  of  a 
neighboring  post,  or  some  young  army  officer  gains  ad- 
mittance under  cover  of  his  uniform ;  and  then  the  state- 
ments which  reach  a  waiting  world  are  to  the  effect  that 
family  greatness,  as  exemplified  in  these  instances,  is  a 
myth  and  a  dream,  and  exclusiveness  a  cloak  beneath 
which  is  concealed  a  kind  of  respectable  poverty. 

To  dance  and  to  smoke  are  the  two  great  objects  of 
Mexican  life.  In  the  New  Mexican  village  the  sound  of 


40  NEW  MEXICAN  COMMON  LIFE. 

the  guitar  is  always  heard,  and  the  dance  is  continuous. 
Not  alone  in  the  evening,  but  at  midday,  beneath  some 
shade,  or  in  an  open  court-yard,  the  passer-by  stops, 
dances  as  long  as  he  chooses,  and  passes  on.  Males  and 
females,  on  whatever  errand  bent,  join  in  the  dance 
without  hesitation  and  quite  as  a  matter  of  course.  It  i& 
a  habit,  a  universal  disease ;  the  first  amusement  a  child 
learns,  and  the  last  manoeuvre  his  decrepit  legs  are  made 
to  perform. 

Equally  inveterate  is  the  habit  of  smoking,  and  the 
cigarette  is  the  universal  article.  Men  and  women  alike, 
mingle  smoke  with  every  earthly  employment.  Senoras 
employ  the  intervals  of  the  fandango  in  making  and 
lighting  cigarettas,  and  the  celerity  with  which  a  Mexi- 
can manufactures  the  small  roll  of  corn-husk  and  tobacco, 
never  once  looking  at  the  operation,  and  chattering  and 
gesticulating  all  the  time,  is  astonishing. 

The  New  Mexican  village  is  a  complete  nondescript. 
At  the  distance  of  a  mile  it  has  the  appearance  of  an  un- 
burned  brick-kiln.  The  sun-dried  adobe  is  the  universal 
building  material,  and  there  is  almost  no  diversity  in 
style.  E"o  attempt  is  made  at  regularity  in  the  streets, 
which  are  simply  narrow  zig-zag  alleys,  intended  only  for 
donkey  locomotion  and  for  the  convenience  of  the  goats. 
The  description  of  a  Mexican  town  invented  by  some 
border  humorist  describes  them  all :  "  Nine  inches  high, 
eighteen  inches  wide,  and  a  mile  and  a  half  long."  And 
this  is  really  a  description,  so  far  as  appearances  go.  The 
luxury  of  a  floor,  of  bedsteads  and  chairs,  is  entirely 
unknown.  Wooden  doors,  stoves  and  iron  utensils  are 
nearly  so.  Everything  is  of  the  earth,  earthy.  Beds  and 
benches  are  banks  of  earth  arranged  along  the  walls. 
Fire-places  are  slender  arches,  in  which  the  fuel  is  placed 


NEW  MEXICAN  COMMON  LIFE.  41 

upright.  Cooking  is  performed  in  earthenware,  and  the 
favorite  and  standard  dish  of  beans  is  stewed  two  or  three 
days  in  an  earthen  jug. 

In  these  towns  the  sounds  of  industry  heard  every- 
where else  in  Christendom  are  unknown.  There  are  no 
shops,  and  every  man  is  his  own  carpenter,  joiner  and 
shoemaker.  Iron  is  the  grand  necessity  of  civilization, 
but  here  its  use  is  scarcely  known.  The  only  wheeled 
vehicle  the  Mexican  uses  of  his  own  choice  is  a  cart 
which  has  not  in  it  so  much  as  a  nail,  and  this  curious 
triumph  in  the  attempt  to  make  the  ugliest,  heaviest  and 
most  inconvenient  of  earthly  vehicles,  goes  shrieking 
over  the  mountain  roads,  eternally  oilless. 

The  Mexican  mode  of  life  is  agricultural,  and  these 
villages  are  simply  gregarious  collections  of  people  per- 
taining to  lands  which  are  tilled  in  common.  There  is 
an  enemy  which  is  complacently  designated  as  "  Lo& 
Indios"  who  is  constantly  on  the  alert  for  spoil,  and  from 
whose  incursions  there  is  no  safety  save  in  union.  Wealths 
here  consists  in  a  multitude  of  goats,  together  with  a, 
limited  number  of  donkeys  and  oxen.  In  his  use  and 
treatment  of  these  animals,  the  native  is  as  peculiar  a&. 
he  is  in  other  respects.  Everything  pays  tribute  to  the 
Mexican's  larder,  and  is  included  in  his  resources,  except 
thosp-  things  in  general  use  among  the  majority  of  man- 
kind. Cows  are  seldom  milked,  and  goats  always  are., 
and  sometimes  even  the  small  pigs  go  short  of  the  moth- 
er's milk,  for  which,  however,  they  cry  as  lustily  as  da 
infant  swine  the  world  over.  Pigs,  lean,  noisy  and  mis- 
erable, are  fastened  to  a  stake  by  a  lariat,  while  the  don. 
keys  are  confined  in  pens.  Dogs,  innumerable  and  ill- 
favored,  swarm  everywhere;  and  domestic  fowls  roost 
among  the  household  utensils,  and  lay  eggs  in  convenient 
4 


42  NEW  MEXICAN  COMMON  LIFE. 

corners.  Red  pepper,  the  famous  chile  Colorado,  the  hot- 
test sauce  ever  invented,  is  a  standard,  sometimes  almost 
an  only  dish,  and  is  eaten  in  quantities  by  high  and  low. 
The  manufacture  of  common  soap  is  neither  understood 
nor  attempted,  and  its  place  is  supplied  by  a  plant  which 
needs  no  preparation  for  use,  and  which  grows  wild  in 
the  country.  Wood  for  fuel  is  not  cut,  but  dug,  being 
the  huge  roots  of  the  insignificant  but  plentiful  mezquit. 
Butter  is  almost  unknown,  but  cheese  made  from  goats' 
milk  is  a  staple.  There  are  dishes  in  the  Mexican  bill  of 
fare  of  which  the  mere  name  c.onveys  no  meaning,  and 
which  are  unknown  to  the  general  world  of  gormands 
and  epicures.  There  is  a  drink  which  is  the  very  con- 
coction of  Beelzebub,  distilled  from  a  plant  which  if  not 
the  same  is  very  nearly  allied  to  the  famous  century- 
plant.  Acrid  as  turpentine,  fiery  as  proof  spirits,  its 
effect  is  more  like  insanity  than  drunkenness,  and  its  use 
adds  nothing  to  the  agreeableness  of  a  race  who  even 
when  sober  are  the  opposite  of  ingenuous. 

What  is  a  country  in  which  the  two  articles  leather 
and  iron  are  not  in  general  use  ?  asks  the  political  econ- 
omist. Yet  here,  the  use  of  both  these  articles  is  prac- 
tically unknown.  Chains,  tires,  straps,  hinges,  braces, 
everything  which  requires  lightness,  strength  and  tough- 
ness, is  made  of  raw-hide,  and  the  Mexican  is  exceedingly 
expert  in  its  preparation.  Applied  to  his  uses,  it  is  firm, 
strong  and  nearly  indestructible.  I  have  known  a  dozen 
mules  to  chew  a  long  Summer  night  through  upon  a 
single  lariat,  and  leave  it  unscathed ;  which  to  one  ac- 
quainted with  the  perseverance  of  that  animal  in  any  task 
of  the  kind  is  sufficient  testimony.  The  shoes  of  the 
Mexican,  made  of  a  thinner  variety  of  the  same  material, 
always  last  until  they  share  the  fate  of  most  articles  of 


NEW  MEXICAN  COMMON  LIFE.  43 

the  kind  in  this  country,  and  are  stolen  by  the  coyotes. 
Everything  broken  is  mended  with  this  article,  and  with- 
out it  the  common  operations  of  life  could  hardly  be  car- 
ried on. 

The  primitiveness  of  Mexican  life  is  more  particularly 
displayed  by  the  dress  of  the  common  class  than  by  any 
other  one  sign.  Stockings  and  gloves  are  an  American 
innovation,  and  seldom  seen.  Generally  neither  sex  is 
encumbered  with  more  than  two  distinct  articles  of  cloth- 
ing besides  the  head-dress,  which  is  with  both  sexes  as 
elaborate  as  circumstances  will  admit.  The  females  wear 
a  short  skirt  and  a  single  upper  garment  of  a  not  unfa- 
miliar pattern,  in  which,  in  maid  and  matron  alike,  at 
all  times  and  places,  are  displayed  robust  arms  and  brown 
torsos.  But  no  one  ever  caught  a  man  without  his  som- 
brero, or  a  woman  without  the  rebosa.  The  first  named 
is  the  most  elaborate  article  of  the  hat  kind,  profusely 
adorned  with  gold  embroidery.  A  Mexican's  hat  is  an 
article  of  profound  importance,  as  indicating  his  respect- 
ability. It  costs  four  times  as  much  as  his  whole  ward- 
robe besides,  and  more  than  the  donkey  which  carries 
him.  Shabby  as  he  may  be  in  other  respects,  his  Sunday 
hat  insures  him  the  respect  due  to  a  well-dressed  man. 

The  rebosa  is  a  garment  as  old  as  the  SpanisTi  race, 
being  a  shawl  more  or  less  gay,  and  sometimes  elaborate 
and  costly,  in  which,  in-doors  and  out,  the  Mexican  woman 
hides  her  face.  Shoulders,  arms  and  feet  may  be  bare, 
but  all  that  can  be  seen  of  her  countenance  is  one  eye 
and  her  nose.  Peculiarly  graceful,  as  the  females  of  her 
race  are  in  all  respects,  long  habit  renders  her  especially 
adroit  in  the  management  of  the  national  head-dress. 
Eating,  smoking,  talking,  the  rebosa  never  falls,  is  never 
blown  away,  and  its  easy  folds  are  never  disarranged.  If 


44  NEW  MEXICAN  COMMON  LIFE. 

ever  in  this  country  the  traveller  espies  in  the  distance  a 
human  figure  upon  whose  head  is  to  be  seen  neither  hat 
nor  shawl,  he  may  begin  to  study  the  means  of  defence, 
for  it  is  no  friend,  but  an  Apache. 

To  the  native  all  the  beasts  of  the  field  are  of  small 
importance  compared  with  the  little  donkey,  called  in  the 
language  of  the  country  a  "  burro."  They  are  very  small, 
many  of  them  not  so  large  as  the  smallest  pony,  and 
many  a  cuff  and  kick,  bestowed  in  lieu  of  forage,  from 
colthood  up,  have  made  them  even  smaller  than  nature 
intended.  They  are  melancholy  brutes,  much  given  to 
forlornness  of  countenance  and  leanness  of  flank.  Ap- 
pearances indicate  that  with  all  his  reverence  for  sacred 
things,  the  Mexican  has  forgotten  that  the  burro  carries 
upon  his  shoulders  the  Cross,  and  once  played  a  promi- 
nent part  in  the  most  distinguished  ecclesiastical  proces- 
sion commemorated  by  his  own  mother-church.  The 
burro  is  tied  by  having  a  blanket  thrown  over  his  ears, 
and  guided  by  vigorous  thwacks  of  a  cudgel  on  either 
eide  of  his  patient  head.  He  is  freighted  with  everything 
which  can  be  tied  upon  him,  and  in  such  quantities  that 
frequently  all  that  is  visible  of  him  are  his  four  little  feet, 
and  those  enormous  ears  which  in  all  his  kind  have  re- 
fused to  be  hidden,  even  by  a  lion's  skin.  lie  is  the  car- 
rier of  hay,  of  stones,  bales  of  goods,  casks  of  water, 
and  sometimes  of  a  whole  family  of  small  children.  His 
master  has  a  confidence  in  his  powers  of  locomotion  and 
endurance  which  would  honor  an  elephant.  Burdened 
with  humanity  or  merchandise,  faithful  of  disposition, 
frugal  of  habit  and  tough  of  hide,  the  little  slave  toils 
through  his  hard  life  with  a  patience  and  submissiveness 
which  make  him  the  martyr  of  the  brute  creation. 

The  small  commercial  transactions  of  the  Mexican  re- 


NEW  MEXICAN  COMMON  LIFE.  45 

mind  one  of  the  shrewd  dealing  of  a  schoolboy.  Should 
the  purchase  of  eggs  become  desirable  to  the  traveller  he 
must  be  content  to  buy  them  two,  three,  or  half  a  dozen 
at  a  time.  He  will  spend  an  immense  amount  of  elo- 
quence in  attempting  to  convince  the  purchaser  that  they 
are  worth  fifty  cents  per  dozen,  while  all  the  time  he  is 
anxious  to  take  half  that  sum.  Should  milk  be  wanted 
he  will  swear  by  all  the  saints  that  the  yellow  and  unctuous 
fluid  is  the  milk  of  a  cow,  and  not  of  the  goat  from  whose 
udders  it  is  yet  warm.  If  it  be  fowls,  the  hoarse  old 
master  of  the  harem  will  always  be  pointed  out  as  young, 
tender  and  just  the  bird  for  Senor's  supper.  Discovered 
in  his  small  rascality,  the  varlet  disarms  resentment  by  a 
smile  so  bland  and  a  shrug  so  expressive  that  you  are 
convinced  he  means  no  harm  by  being  an  inveterate  liar. 

The  female  of  every  tribe  and  race  varies  from  the  male 
by  a  greater  difference  than  is  expressed  by  masculinity 
and  femininity.  But  the  Mexican  woman  is  in  many  re- 
spects more  a  woman  and  less  a  heathen  than  could  be 
expected  from  her  surroundings.  Always  neat  in  attire 
and  cleanly  in  person  and  surroundings;  comely  and 
sometimes  beautiful  in  face  and  figure ;  always  trying  to 
look  pretty,  with  a  weak  side  for  flattery  and  admiration  ; 
coquettish  in  her  ways  and  suave  in  her  manners ;  tender 
and  kind  to  those  she  loves ;  with  a  laugh  or  a  tear  always 
at  hand,  as  her  sisters  have  the  world  over;  she  is  in  all 
respects  a  striking  contrast  to  the  surroundings  of  her 
daily  life,  and  the  habits  of  the  country  in  which  she  lives. 

And  while  all  this  is  true,  there  comes  following  after 
it  a  truth  which  is  in  itself  a  problem  for  the  socialist  and 
the  student  of  human  nature.  Stated  as  a  proposition, 
any  form  of  society  not  cemented  and  supported  by  a 
peculiar  and  almost  indescribable  spirit  of  chastity  is  sure 


46  NEW  MEXICAN  COMMON  LIFE. 

to  fall.  Virtue  must  be  regarded,  venerated,  inherited — 
taught  unceasingly  by  the  mother,  the  schoolmaster,  and 
the  priest.  Such  is  not  the  case  here.  Prostitution,  big- 
amy and  adultery  go  licensed  and  shameless.  Faithful- 
ness to  the  marriage  vow  is  not  deemed  essential  to  con- 
nubial peace ;  and  the  idea  of  absolute  virtue  is  not  extent. 
The  Mexican  women  present  the  strange  spectacle  of  al- 
most universally  modest  demeanor  and  gentle  manners, 
fulfilling  the  ordinary  duties  of  home  and  life  in  a  manner 
far  better  than  could  be  expected  from  them  in  their  ordi- 
nary course  of  training  and  education,  and  yet  without 
an  idea  of  the  meaning,  as  it  is  generally  understood,  of 
the  word  virtue.  The  fact  is  a  plain  and  undisputed  one. 
Let  those  study  it  who  are  given  to  the  investigation  of 
social  questions,  and  who  believe  in  limited  matrimonial 
contracts  and  speculate  upon  affinities.  The  train  of  social 
debauchery  passes  by,  and  the  grand  result  comes  thun- 
dering after;  for  a  large  portion  of  the  population  is  more 
or  less  affected  by  that  malady  which  is  one  of  the  direst 
strokes  inflicted  by  the  angel  with  the  flaming  sword  who 
stands  at  the  gate  of  the  garden  of  forbidden  pleasure. 

No  one  need  go  to  Rome  to  acquire  a  knowledge  of 
what  Catholicism  is  at  home.  The  seat  of  the  Papal 
Government,  with  the  old  man  of  infallibility  throned  in 
the  midst,  is  not  more  thoroughly  Catholic  than  is  New 
Mexico.  The  passion  for  relics,  saints,  images,  candles 
and  processions  is  universal  throughout  the  country. 
Nearly  all  the  villages  are  named  Saint  somebody,  and 
Jesuitism  is  an  established  rule.  The  worst  social  vices 
and  the  most  degrading  sins  are  coupled  with  the  deepest 
regard  for  everything  which  smasks  of  saintship  and 
sacredness.  Every  hamlet  has  its  church,  or  a  building 
which  is  erected  for  that  purpose.  Each  churchyard  i& 


NEW  MEXICAN  COMMON  LIFE.  47 

a  Golgotha,  which  in  some  instances  has  been  many 
times  dug  over  for  the  purpose  of  burying  the  dead  within 
sacred  precincts.  Skulls  and  large  bones, — a  cheerful 
sight  to  those  whose  friends  have  been  interred  there, — 
are  piled  within  the  railing  which  surrounds  the  grave 
of  some  occupant'who  has  not  yet  been  ousted  from  that 
limited  freehold  to  which  the  poorest  of  us  are  supposed 
to  be  entitled  at  last. 

Convenient  appliances  for  the  doing  of  penance  are 
included  in  nearly  every  sacerdotal  outfit.  There  are 
crosses  large  enough  for  practical  utility,  which  penitents 
are  required  to  carry  far  out  among  the  hills  and  back,  to 
atone  for  some  unwonted  sin.  There  are  whips  and 
ropes-ends  for  flagellation ;  and  sometimes  barefoot  pil- 
grimages are  required  over  a  country  where  almost  every 
step  is  thorny.  Lighter  sins  are  purged  away  by  lying 
all  night  on  a  gravestone, — a  thing  at  the  bare  idea  of 
which  the  soul  of  the  Mexican  quakes  within  him ;  and 
sometimes  by  bumping  the  head  a  great  number  of  con- 
secutive times  upon  the  church-steps.  Whether  this  last- 
named  exercise  is  a  mere  form,  or  whether  the  saving 
thumps  are  given  with  faithfulness  and  vigor,  depends 
entirely  upon  the  thickness  of  the  skull  and  the  tender- 
ness of  the  Mexican  conscience. 

The  festas,  or  sacred  days,  come  so  often  and  are  ob- 
served so  generally  that  the  ill-natured  remark  has  been 
frequently  masle  that  they  were  invented  to  avoid  the 
necessity  of  work  and  lay  the  responsibility  for  conse- 
quent poverty  upon  the  saints.  The  motley  procession 
which  parades  the  streets  upon  these  occasions,  firing 
guns,  yelling  and  singing,  behind  a  tawdry  image  of  the 
Virgin  arrayed  in  pink  muslin,  with  a  black  silk  mantilla 
and  kid  gloves,  is  one  of  the  raggedest,  noisiest  and  most 


48  NEW  MEXICAN  COMMON  LIFE. 

ludicrous  performances  ever  called  by  the  name  of  re- 
ligious. 

Yet  this  curious  form  of  Christianity  is  not  wanting 
in  its  consolations.  There  are  no  free-thinkers  and  scep- 
tics here.  Under  its  influence  the  Mexican  becomes 
courageous  in  danger  and  hopeful  in  death.  In  those 
times  which  frequently  come  in  this  country  when  his 
companions  run  in  desperation  from  the  Apache,  still 
hoping  to  escape  when  there  is  no  chance  for  life,  he 
drops  quietly  upon  his  knees  and  camly  dies  with  a  prayer 
on  his  lips  to  that  Mother  of  Christ  whose  name  is  dearer 
than  all  others  to  the  Catholic  heart.  Nevertheless,  the 
writer  of  this  is  reminded  by  the  very  making  of  the 
above  statement  to  be  personally  thankful  that  the  sturdy 
Protestant  is  apt  on  such  occasions  to  follow  an  Anglo- 
Saxon  instinct  and  die  fighting  if  necessary,  running  if 
possible. 

And  so  this  curious  and  almost  isolated  people  live  on, 
content  in  their  straggling  villages  and  their  primitive  life, 
careless  and  ignorant  of  all  things  outside  their  limited 
world.  They  know  not  that  the  skies  are  changing  over 
their  heads,  and  that  they  or  their  children  must  ere  long 
take  part  in  the  march  of  a  great  people  or  be  left  for- 
gotten by  the  road-side  while  their  places  are  taken  by 
others. 

Even  at  this  distance  of  time  and  space,  I  recall  the 
old  familiar,  lazy  Summer  afternoon  in  Mexico.  I  re- 
member how  the  Senoritas  sat  with  folded  hands  about 
the  doors,  and  looked  with  one  unveiled  and  furtive  eye 
upon  the  passers-by.  Ancient  and  parchment-faced 
crones  chattered  and  smoked  at  the  corners  of  the  plaza, 
and  impish  boys  played  noisy  games  in  the  dusty  street. 
The  cocks  and  hens  sauntered  in  and  out  of  the  owners* 


NEW  MEXICAN  COMMON  LIFE.  49 

houses,  with  an  air  of  contented  ownership ;  and  venerable 
and  bearded  goats  perambulated  the  crumbling  garden- 
walls.  The  unhappy  pig  whined  and  pulled  at  his  tether, 
and  kids  furtively  nibbled  at  the  tail  of  the  solemn  old 
donkey,  who  &tood  with  closed  eye  and  hanging  lip, 
asleep.  I  see  the  white  tops  of  the  far  Sierras  gleam  in 
the  slant  sunshine,  and  gradually  the  long  shadows  creep 
over  the  scene,  and  there  is  nothing  visible  in  the  gloom 
but  the  outline  of  the  cold  peaks  against  the  fading  pur- 
ple of  the  sky.  The  lights  twinkle  few  and  far  between 
in  the  village  street.  There  is  no  longer  any  sound  but 
the  tinkling  of  the  guitar,  and  the  laughter  of  the  dancers 
— and  dim  and  far  the  bleating  of  the  flocks.  All  is  the 
perfect  peace  of  contented  poverty.  All  is  today;  and 
there  is  no  tomorrow. 

I  wonder  as  I  recall  such  scenes  whether  I  shall  see  the 
day  when  these  dry  bones  shall  be  stirred,  and  these 
ancient  fossils  live  again  a  new  life.  The  land  is  already 
touched  by  the  farthest  ripple  of  the  mighty  wave  which 
slowly  creeps  horizonward,  burdened  with  life,  energy 
and  change.  There  already  is  the  camp  of  the  advance 
guard  which  widens  the  borders  of  the  mighty  civiliza- 
tion destined  to  include  within  its  boundaries  a  hundred 
millions  of  freemen. 


THE     SCOUT'S     MISTAKE. 


r  |  ^HERE  is  a  poor  adobe  house  close  by  the  brink  of 
the  acequia.  The  cottonwoods  and  willows  which 
grow  near  the  water  add  a  little  shade  and  comfort,  but 
take  nothing  from  the  abiding  dreariness  of  the  spot. 
Behind  it,  up  the  steep  hill-side,  clamber  the  stunted 
cedars  among  the  huge  rocks.  Over  the  hill,  half  a  mile 
away,  is  the  quadrangle  of  houses,  the  green  parade- 
ground,  the  little  hum  and  bustle  of  guard-mount  and 
roll-call,  and  the  great  starry-and-striped  banner  which 
hangs  all  day  in  the  limpid  sunshine. 

If  the  shanty  and  the  post  have  any  possible  relation 
to  each  other,  the  passing  stranger  is  unable  to  perceive 
it.  There  could  be  no  more  perfect  seclusion  in  the 
depths  of  the  wilderness.  The  straggling  path  among 
the  boulders  and  cedars  of  the  hill-side  is  seldom  used. 
There  is  no  sound  save  the  echoes  of  the  morning  and 
evening  gun  to  disturb  the  place;  and  the  occupant,  who- 
ever he  may  be,  wants  only  protection  and  disdains  so- 
ciety. 

You  would  be  puzzled  to  know  from  his  appearance 
whether  the  man  who  sits  under  the  awning  of  boughs 
in  front  of  the  adobe  be  Indian  or  Spaniard.  Whichever 
%e  may  be,  he  is  also  cousin  to  the  Anakim.  Were  it 
not  for  the  stoop  in  his  great  shoulders,  he  would  be  sev- 
eral inches  over  the  standard  of  ordinary  men.  His 
straight  hair,  slightly  gray,  falls  upons  his  shoulders;  his 
square  jaws,  high  cheek-bones  and  aquiline  nose  are  the 
color  of  mahogany;  and  the  arms  which  lie  listlessly 


THE  SCOUT'S  MISTAKE.  51 

across  his  knees  are  simian  in  their  brawny  length.  As 
he  lifts  his  head  with  a  kind  of  growl  as  you  approach 
him,  you  can  see  that  his  eyes  are  sloe-black  and  small 
and  wicked,  and  the  whole  man  bespeaks  a  capacity  for 
the  doing  of  deeds  as  unscrupulous  as  they  are  daring. 
If  he  is  a  Mexican  he  lacks  the  politeness  of  his  race, 
for  he  will  not  bid  you  the  courteous  "  Bueno  dios,"  nor 
ask  you  to  sit  down.  If  an  Indian,  he  is  in  the  wrong 
place  and  near  the  wrong  people.  He  is  neither — and 
both ;  and  as  a  fair  specimen  of  the  admixture  of  Span- 
iard and  Apache,  he  offers  fair  cause  for  the  hope  that 
the  two  races  have  but  seldom  mingled. 

There  is  an  art  which  has  no  place  among  the  sciences, 
which  the  schools  cannot  teach,  and  of  which  the  savans 
know  nothing,  which  is  more  wonderful  in  its  accuracy, 
more  precise  in  its  details,  and  more  curious  in  its  prac- 
tice than  much  that  Cuvier  and  Agassiz  have  written. 
Its  school  is  the  far  verge  of  civilization,  and  its  disciples 
ignorant  sons  of  the  wilderness.  By  it  the  dull  and  far- 
off  sounds  and  the  intricate  and  unimportant  signs  of 
nature  are  read  as  an  open  book,  and  tell  strange  tales. 
By  it  the  dreary  and  monotonous  wastes  of  mountain 
and  plain  are  traversed  with  an  instinct  almost  as  unerr- 
ing as  that  of  the  migratory  bird.  It  constructs  a  tale 
from  a  broken  reed,  and  gathers  a  history  from  a  dim 
footstep  in  the  sand,  and  its  followers  are  the  very  sleuth- 
hounds  of  humanity.  It  is  the  art  of  the  trailer  or  scout, 
and  of  these  the  grim  inhabitant  of  the  adobe  was  one  of 
the  most  famous. 

Mariano  owed  his  accurate  education  as  much  to  birth 
as  to  training,  and  his  whole  life  was  an  evidence  that 
isolation  and  desert  silence  are  not  wanting  in  the  inci- 
dents which  sometimes  make  existence  a  curiosity.  His 


52  THE  SCOUT'S  MISTAKE. 

mother  was  a  Mexican  captive,  whose  name  and  family 
he  only  guessed,  and  his  father  an  Apache  dignitary, 
from  whom  this  his  son  was  captured  at  eight  years  of 
age.  He  was  born  in  the  camp  of  those  whom  he  after- 
wards made  his  livelihood  by  hunting;  and  the  Indian 
instinct,  the  frontier  training  and  the  quartermaster's 
money  were  the  three  things  which  made  Mariano  what 
he  was.  Yet  not  entirely,  for  he  had  certain  character- 
istics of  his  own,  namely:  colossal  strength,  a  wily  head 
and  strong  passions.  • 

Almost  the  only  levity  in  which  Mariano  ever  indulged 
was  evoked  by  a  narrative  of  his  own  capture  on  that 
early  summer  morning  long  ago,  when  he  fell  off  the 
pony  from  behind  a  squaw  and  ran  for  cover  as  fast  as 
his  young  legs  and  his  Indian  instinct  would  carry  him. 
How  a  caballero  turned  aside  from  the  pursuit  and  chased 
him,  and  reaching  down  as  he  rode  beside  him,  caught 
him  by  the  tuft  of  hair  upon  his  head,  carried  him  thus 
for  some  distance,  and  then,  placing  him  beside  an  im- 
mense rock  which  served  to  mark  the  place,  bade  him 
wait  until  he  returned.  Mariano  understood  and  waited. 
Why,  none  but  he  could  explain ;  and  certainly  he  never 
did.  This  was  in  the  old  days,  when  the  Mexicans  and 
Indians  had  it  all  to  themselves ;  and  thus  began  the 
scout's  adventurous  life.  He  dimly  remembered  the 
name  and  clan  of  his  father,  and  the  sad  eyes  and  hand- 
some face  of  his  slave-mother.  He  had  cause  to  remem- 
ber them :  but  as  he  sits  listlessly  beside  his  l©nesome 
cottage-door,  seeming  to  have  nothing  in  common  with 
humanity,  you  need  not  ask  him  to  tell  of  them.  Noth- 
ing makes  Mariano  so  furious  as  to  question  him  of  these 
things.  Once  he  was  boastful  of  his  career.  But  that 
was  years  ago.  He  has  had  a  revelation  since  then  :  and 


THE  SCOUT'S  MISTAKE.  53 

as  all  men's  revelations  are  apt  to  do,  it  came  too  late. 

Mariano  went  to  live  with  his  captors  in  one  of  the 
villages  of  the  Rio  Grande,  and  having  in  a  short,  time 
asserted  himself  and  repelled  enslavement,  was  contented. 
But  he  was  a  different  character  from  most  of  those 
around  him,  He  was  restless,  alert,  silent,  and  in  his 
carelessness  of  society  and  his  love  of  the  mountains, 
first  learned  the  rudiments  of  the  strange  profession  in 
the  practice  of  which  he  became  noted.  Among  his  first 
efforts,  he  followed  the  trail  of  the  Apache,  and  hun- 
dreds of  rugged  miles  became  almost  as  familiar  to  him 
as  the  village  plaza.  Reckless  by  birth,  and  taught  by 
circumstances,  he  learned  to  forget  that  he  was  allied  by 
blood  to  the  men  he  hunted.  Besides,  he  had  spent  his 
years  with  the  race  to  which  his  mother  belonged,  and 
their  questionings  recalled  to  him  with  a  vividness  as  of 
yesterday  the  sorrowful  face  of  the  slave  who  bore  him — 
beaten,  spurned,  driven  like  a  beast,  a  stranger  among 
fiends  of  her  own  sex,  a  captive  and  a  mother.  As  he 
grew  to  manhood,  the  memory  became  a  passion.  He 
became  remarkable  for  his  vindictive  hatred  of  los  Indios, 
and  his  skill  and  unscrupulousness  in  warfare  against 
them.  Of  all  men,  his  eye  was  keenest,  his  hearing 
sharpest,  and  his  head  clearest;  and  when,  at  last,  the 
great  Republic  sent  its  soldiers  to  occupy  the  land,  Mari- 
ano was  one  of  the  most  unscrupulous,  cunning  and  des- 
perate Indian  fighters. 

Then  began  in  earnest  the  life  of  the  scout.  He  was 
no  longer  required  to  follow  the  trail  for  love  of  his 
mother  and  hatred  of  his  father  alone,  but  at  five-and- 
twenty  was  the  recipient  of  a  daily  ration,  and  at  the  end 
of  every  month  of  twenty  of  the  quartermaster's  yellow 
coins. 


54  THE  SCOUT'S  MISTAKE. 

The  history  of  this  rugged  country  for  two  centuries 
is  the  history  of  almost  uninterrupted  strife.  The  earli- 
est and  latest  work  of  the  military  whose  isolated  posts 
stand  at  intervals  through  the  land  is  a  history  of  small 
campaigns,  but  seldom  successful  and  often  disastrous, 
against  the  Ishmaelite  of  the  mountains.  In  one  of  the 
earliest  of  these  expeditions  by  our  forces,  the  cavalcade 
which  filed  into  one  of  the  long-since-abandoned  and 
almost-forgotten  posts,  showed  a  grotesque  addition  to 
its  numbers  in  a  curious  group  of  captives. 

In  huge  baskets,  slung  upon  either  side  of  a  donkey, 
were  three  Apache  children,  the  larger  upon  one  side 
and  the  two  smaller  upon  the  other.  They  blinked  their 
small  black  eyes  upon  their  new  surroundings  with  an 
expression  in  which  there  was  little  change  of  wonder  or 
fear,  ate  ravenously  all  that  was  given  them,  and  uttered 
never  a  word.  Besides  these,  there  was  a  girl  of  fifteen, 
who  stood  apart,  of  whose  face,  as  many  curious  eyes 
looked  upon  it  that  day,  it  seemed  hard  to  tell  whether 
it  was  beautiful  or  only  wild  and  strange.  The  low  fore- 
head, tawny  skin,  and  straight  black  hair,  betrayed  the 
Indian ;  but  the  full  lips,  the  small  nose,  the  oval  face, 
and  the  round  and  graceful  figure,  were  strange  to  Apache 
lineage.  But  more  than  all,  the  eyes,  big  and  sad  and 
bright,  with  the  slight  downward  curve  of  the  outer 
corners,  were  the  historic,  troubabour-sung  brilliants 
which  have  been  the  inheritance  of  the  gazelles  and  the 
swarthy  daughters  of  the  south,  and  none  others,  from 
the  earliest  times  of  poetry.  Clad  in  rags,  moccasoned 
and  bare-headed,  this  child  of  savagery  looked  around 
her  upon  the  first  walls,  the  first  civilization  and  the  first 
white  men  she  had  ever  seen  with  their  own  surround- 
ings ;  showed  her  white  teeth  in  a  smile  which  betokened 


THB  SCOUT'S  MISTAKE.  55 

the  realization  of  something  she  had  heard  or  dreamed 
of;  said  slowly,  " Ah !  muy grande — muy  grande-,"  and 
then  covered  her  poor  head  with  a  corner  of  her  scant 
blanket,  and  cried  like  any  child. 

The  squaw  could  speak  Spanish  then  ?  In  that  supreme 
moment  she  did.  But  few  heard  her,  and  they  forgot  the 
circumstance.  They  clothed  her  in  decent  garb  and 
placed  her  among  the  laundresses,  and  these  loud-voiced 
and  kind-hearted  women,  whose  roving  fortunes  had  be- 
gan in  the  green  Gem  of  the  Sea,  and  whose  husbands 
were  dragoon  corporals,  taught  her  the  mysteries  of  the 
rubbing-board  and  the  smoothing-iron,  and  the  virtues  of 
cleanliness  and  calico.  Truly,  she  learned  early  and  well, 
and  while  they  scolded  and  taught,  they  also  gave  her  a 
name,  a  strange  one  for  a  squaw,  and  one  to  which  many 
a  blue-eyed  and  rosy  Irish  lass  has-  answered  ere  now,  for 
they  called  her — Kate. 

But,  in  compliance  with  orders  from  the  supreme  au- 
thority at  the  post,  they  also  watched.  The  adobe  walls 
were  high,  and  the  guards  were  vigilant,  but  this  daughter 
of  the  wilderness  would  be  unlike  her  kind  if  she  failed 
to  use  a  dark  night,  agile  limbs  and  Indian  cunning  to 
clamber  over  the  barriers  and  return  to  her  kindred. 
Therefore  these  Amazons  were  an  unarmed  guard,  a  kind 
of  committee  of  safety,  and  were  cognizant  of  most  of 
the  sleeping  and  waking  moments  of  this  lonely  and 
bright-eyed  captive,  who  passed  her  days  and  nights 
seemingly  unconscious  of  surveillance,  and  who,  in  her 
daily  growth  in  stalwart  beauty  and  patient  docility 
belied  all  the  traditions  of  her  tameless  race. 

But,  by  and  by,  they  came  to  watch  her  less  and  love 
her  more.  Kate  had  learned  to  come  when  called  and  to 
do  when  bidden  in  the  rich  brogue  of  Cork.  But  she 


56  THE  SCOUT'S  MISTAKE. 

never  talked  and  seldom  laughed.  In  time  of  leisure  she 
would  sit  for  hours  upon  the  ground,  her  back  against 
the  wall,  and  with  her  brown  hands  clasped  upon  her 
knees  look  far  across  the  bare  parade-ground  and  over 
the  wall,  at  the  blue  sky  and  the  white  mountain-tops 
beyond  and  far  away.  And  when,  in  the  early  evening, 
the  brief  signal-fire  would  blaze  a  moment  and  die  upon 
the  hills,  Kate's  eyes  would  glitter  and  her  breath  come 
quick  and  fast.  But  her  dull  tutors  never  noticed  that. 

Three  months  passed  in  this  manner,  and  Mariano  was 
taken  up  on  the  quartermaster's  roll  of  "persons  and  ar- 
ticles "  as  the  "  hired  scout,"  and  became  a  resident  of 
the  post.  Clad  in  fringed  pantaloons  and  hundred-but- 
toned jacket,  the  frontier  giant  sauntered  in  and  out 
among  the  mules,  and  made  cinchos  and  contrived  packs, 
and  in  the  intervals  lounged  at  the  trader's  store  and 
gambled  at  monte.  His  situation  and  surroundings 
pleased  him.  He  had  always  been  more  or  less  a  hero, 
and  now  he  also  earned  money  and  was  in  the  matter  of 
authority  only  less  than  the  commandant  himself.  How 
familiar  to  Mariano's  memory  must  be  the  blue  jackets 
and  orange  trimmings  and  antiquated  arms  of  the  old 
Second  Dragoons,  now  only  known  in  the  ancient  records 
of  the  War  Department,  but  among  whose  ranks  once 
rode  the  Lees  and  Johnstons.  The  memories  of  such 
things  are  only  preserved  in  the  minds  of  men  like  him, 
and  they  are  always  silent.  But  the  intricacies  of  the 
trail  and  the  glint  of  arms  did  not  dim  the  vision  of  the 
scout  for  another  kind  of  observation,  for  he  had  a  ready 
eye  for  the  faces  and  charms  of  senoritas  wherever  he 
found  them. 

One  day  he  invaded  the  by  no  means  sacred  precincts 
of  the  laundresses'  quarters,  and  ingoing  thither  he  came 


57 

upon  Kate  sitting  upon  the  ground  and  looking  away  off 
at  the  sky.  He  passed  her  and  stared,  and  passed  on, 
still  looking  back.  The  first  Amazon  he  saw  he  plied 
with  a  torrent  of  Spanish  and  a  whole  pantomime  of 
gesticulations.  Amazon  listened  and  stared  for  a  while, 
and  then  placing  the  knuckles  of  her  red  hands  upon  her 
hips,  marched  up  to  him,  and  obtruding  her  square  jaws 
and  pug  nose  as  nearly  as  she  could  into  his  very  face, 
bade  him  "  Git  out  wid  ye ; "  and  as  the  scout,  under- 
standing the  action  if  not  the  words,  departed,  she  turned 
again  to  her  wash-tub,  muttering  "  The  darty  Mixican, 
an'  won't  I  be  tellin'  the  carporal  av  him."  Mariano 
passed  the  captive  again,  and  stared  at  her  in  wondering 
admiration,  like  a  child  at  a  new  toy.  And  when  he 
caught  her  startled  eye  he  took  off  his  embroided  sombrero 
and  bowed  low,  and  then  wondered  at  his  own  temerity 
and  hastened  away.  As  for  Kate,  she  looked  after  his 
gigantic  figure  with  an  expression  upon  her  face  which 
probably  in  all  her  life  had  never  found  place  there  before, 
and  arose  and  went  away,  more  strange  and  silent  than 
ever. 

Of  course  Mariano  learned  the  story  of  the  captive  as 
soon  as  he  found  some  one  who  understood  his  questions. 
But  it  only  mystified  him,  being  contrary  to  all  his  ex- 
perience. But  his  keen  eye  watched  the  laundresses' 
quarters  as  closely  as  ever  they  had  watched  for  the  trail, 
and  sometimes  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  Kate,  and  then  he 
bowed  low  and  smiled,  and  she  ran  away.  He  had  never 
heard  her  speak.  He  concluded  that  she  could  not,  and 
never  got  near  enough  to  her  to  test  the  matter.  Some- 
how, had  she  only  smiled  he  would  have  considered  it  the 
supremest  happiness.  He  would  not  have  touched  her 
with  the  tip  of  his  finger.  He  was  a  little  afraid  of  her. 
5 


58  THE  SCOUT'S  MISTAKE. 

He, — afraid !  Should  Mariano  fear  a  squaw  ?  No,  he  did 
not  think  of  it  in  that  sense ;  but  after  all  he  was,  because 
it  is  the  same  old  story :  Mariano  was  in  love. 

All  this  time  there  were  preparations  for  an  expedition 
against  the  common  enemy.  Mariano  continued  to  go  in 
and  out  among  the  packs,  ever  thinking  of  something 
else.  And  as  he  dreamed  and  thought,  he  had  a  lover's 
inspiration :  he  would  give  her  something  to  remember 
him  by  during  the  long  eight  weeks  of  absence.  So  he 
lurked  and  watched  for  two  tedious  days,  and  finally 
managed  to  come  upon  Kate  when  the  Amazons  were 
absent.  His  big  healthful  heart  beat  very  rapidly  as  she 
rose  up  from  her  seat  upon  the  ground  with  a  frightened 
look  and  turned  to  fly.  But  Mariano  took  off  his  hat 
with  a  deprecating  gesture,  and  performed  the  pantomime 
which  means  "Now  don't  go — please  don't."  As  she 
hesitated  he  held  before  her  his  gift,  a  glittering  cross  of 
barbaric,  beaten  gold.  "  Take  it,  Senorita,"  said  he ; 
"  wear  it  for  me  while  I  am  gone."  There  is  no  emblem 
so  well  understood  as  the  symbol  of  the  salvation  of  man- 
kind ;  but  the  girl,  as  she  looked  upon  it,  seemed  to  won- 
der at  his  words.  As  she  took  it  timidly  in  her  fingers 
and  turned  it  over  and  over,  a  new  intelligence  came  into 
her  eyes.  Then  she  took  from  her  bosom  another  cross, 
and  held  it  hanging  from  her  neck  by  a  small  string  of 
sinew.  She  placed  it  beside  the  other  and  compared  the 
two,  still  with  the  look  of  new  knowledge  in  her  face. 
No  wonder,  for  these  two  were  the  only  crosses  Kate  had 
ever  seen. 

Mariano  examined  the  girl's  one  rude  keepsake,  and 
wondered  within  himself  how  she  got  it  and  why  she 
wore  it.  It  was  a  small  toy  carved  of  white  bone ;  upon 
one  side,  not  unskillfully  cut,  the  well-known  image  of 


THE  SCOUT'S  MISTAKE.  59 

the  Great  Martyr,  and  upon  the  other,  two  curious  letters 
and  a  date.  Doubtless  it  was  a  specimen  of  old  monastic 
skill  carved  in  a  cell  across  the  sea ;  but  why  did  the  scout 
look  at  it  so  long  and  curiously,  and  still  hold  it  and  look  ? 
Because  it  seemed  to  bring  back  an  indefinite  memory 
of  something  long  passed.  It  reminded  him  of  a  dim 
time  when  he  was  often  hungry  and  often  cold,  and  when 
scenes  and  places  changed  rapidly.  It  was  associated  in 
his  mind  with  a  leathery  smell  and  smarting  eyes,  and 
wildness  and  haste.  Above  all  it  recalled  a  beautiful  and 
suffering  face,  and  kisses  and  caresses  and  tears.  While 
he  still  pondered  he  had  fastened  his  gift  beside  the  other, 
and  given  them  back  to  the  girl.  She  turned  away  from 
him,  the  tears  almost  in  her  black  eyes,  and,  seeming  to 
forget  his  presence,  suddenly  kissed  the  cross  she  had 
worn,  muttered  the  one  word  "  Madre," — almost  as  sweet 
in  that  liquid  tongue  as  the  English  "  mother," — and  was 
gone.  What  could  she  mean  when  she  whispered 
"mother?"  And  stranger  still,  where  could  this  shy 
Apache  girl  have  learned  the  sweet  significance  of  a  kiss  ? 
The  strongest  associations  and  dearest  memories  of  this 
sad  life  are  connected  with  that  word  and  that  act,  and 
poor  Kate  either  knew  them  of  herself  or  had  learned 
them  from  some  source  not  altogether  consistent  with  her 
wild  life  and  her  savage  ancestry. 

The  grotesque  train  of  burdened  asses,  the  gay  horses 
prancing  in  utter  ignorance  of  coming  hardship,  and  the 
riders  destined  to  return  horseless,  footsore,  weary  and 
in  rags,  filed  out  of  the  post  and  took  its  way  towards 
the  mountains.  In  front,  beside  the  commandant,  rode 
Mariano,  somewhat  moody,  and  more  melancholy  than 
he  had  ever  been  in  his  life  before.  But  the  probabilities 
and  adventures  of  the  expedition  in  the  mountains  were 


60  THE  SCOUT'S  MISTAKE. 

not  uppermost  in  his  thoughts.  His  memory  of  hidden 
springs,  desolate  passes  and  camping-places,  was  blurred 
and  mingled  with  more  recent  mysteries.  We  have  all 
seen  the  blustering,  busy,  impatient  fellow,  intensely 
occupied  with  the  business  in  hand,  who,  when  alone, 
and  no  one  is  looking,  sits  himself  down  in  a  retired  corner 
at  the  depot,  in  the  hotel,  or  upon  the  railway-car,  and 
reads  for  the  twentieth  time  the  tinted  sheet  covered  with 
the  delicate  lines  of  a  woman's  pen.  How  his  world- 
worn  face  changes  as  he  reads  again  the  words  already 
almost  known  literally  by  heart.  By  and  by  he  places  it 
again  in  his  securest  pocket,  and  is  ready,  as  before,  for 
all  that  comes.  He  seems  to  have  forgotten  it,  but  he 
has  not,  and  to  a  greater  or  less  extent  it  influences  his 
life. 

Mariano  had  no  letter  in  his  pocket,  and  could  never 
have  read  it  if  he  had;  but  he  had  the  same  feeling,  the 
same  delicious,  haunting,  obtrusive  sensation  in  his  heart 
of  which  the  dear  and  foolish  epistles  which  came  to  us 
when  we  were  young  were  the  fuel.  And  then  that  little 
worn  white  cross !  As  he  watched  the  regular  footfalls 
of  his  mule,  and  absently  twisted  the  fringes  upon  his 
thigh,  how  often  did  he  turn  that  obtrusive  mystery  over 
in  his  mind.  He  had  seen  it,  he  knew  it  well,  and  through 
a  mist  it  seemed  connected  with  rocks,  and  camps,  and 
dew,  and  childish  ideas.  And  the  face  it  reminded  him 
of — the  sorrowful,  patient,  beautiful  face  !  It  seemed  to 
the  scout  as  he  pondered  that  the  only  memories  of  his 
life  in  which  tenderness  had  any  place  were  somehow 
connected  with  a  small  white  cross.  And  one  midnight, 
two  days  afterwards,  as  he  lay  watching  the  filmy  clouds 
and  sailing  stars,  still  thinking,  it  came  to  him — came 
with  a  thrill  which  went  to  his  fingers'  ends,  and  then 


THE  SCOUT'S  MISTAKE.  61 

•came  surging  back  to  his  heart.  It  was  joy  at  first  which 
made  him  start  up  from  his  rude  bed,  and  then  it  was  a 
sorrow  clothed  in  mystery  which  nearly  drove  him  to 
despair.  Ay,  that  little  cross,  with  its  sad  image  and 
date,  he  had  last  seen  eighteen  forgetful  years  ago,  upon 
the  bosom  of  a  woman  whose  homelessness  and  helpless- 
ness and  sadness  he  had  even  then  almost  understood, 
and  whose  wrongs  he  had  during  these  long  years  avenged 
with  a  kind  of  blind  ferocity.  It  was  his  mother's ;  and 
as  he  lay  down  again  among  the  sleeping  figures,  he 
wiped  the  clamminess  from  his  forehead. 

Even  then  his  trained  ear  seemed  to  catch  a  slight 
sound  which  was  not  of  the  camp.  As  he  raised  his 
head  and  listened  and  looked,  the  small  stone  rolled  down 
the  hill  and  stopped  in  silence  at  the  bottom.  The  sen- 
tinel stood  carelessly  leaning  upon  his  piece  with  far-away 
thoughts,  but  a  dim  figure  moved  rapidly  away  in  the 
valley  shadows.  The  scout  was  in  no  mood  for  alarms. 
Starlight  is  deceptive,  and  perhaps  it  was  only  a  gray 
coyote.  But  in  the  early  morning  he  stopped  suddenly 
in  the  march,  and  creeping  upon  his  knees  examined  long 
and  curiously  the  faint  footsteps  in  the  dry  sand  of  the 
ravine.  They  were  moccason-tracks,  and  they  were  alone. 
"  Indians  ? "  said  the  commandant.  "  No,"  said  the  scout 
with  the  pantomime  which  means  utter  perplexity.  Ma- 
riano was  at  last  puzzled  in  his  profession,  and  like  a 
learned  doctor  he  declined  to  give  any  opinion  in  a  diffi- 
cult case.  Apaches  inhabited  these  mountains,  and  they 
only.  But  an  ordinary  Apache  never  made  these  foot- 
prints. See  here,  and  here,  and  here — they  are  a  woman's 
steps,  and  the  toes  are  turned  outward.  Quein  sabe  ? 

The  night  of  the  day  upon  which  the  scouting  force 
left  the  post,  the  Indian  girl  had  been  seen  quietly  asleep 


62  THE  SCOUT'S  MISTAKE. 

by  her  mentors  and  guards.  But  when  morning  came, 
they  mourned  alike  the  absence  of  their  husbands  and 
their  pupil.  How  or  when  no  one  knew ;  but  over  the 
wall  and  far  away  Kate  was  gone.  There  were  none 
there  who  could  be  spared,  even  if  they  could  follow  so 
light  a  trail.  The  women  could  only  lift  their  hands  on 
high,  and  exclaim,  "Did  ye's  iver?  "  and  return  to  their 
washing;  and  by  none  of  them  was  she  ever  seen  again. 

It  were  useless  to  recount  the  incidents  of  the  weary, 
thirsty  days  of  an  unsuccessful  scout.  Everywhere  the 
phantom  Indian  vanished  from  the  freshest  trail.  They 
seemed  near,  but  never  to  be  overtaken.  The  troopers' 
horses  flagged  and  died,  and  even  the  donkeys  grew  sore, 
weary  and  stubborn.  After  four  weeks  the  ragged  and 
disheartened  command  turned  backward  over  the  bald 
hills  and  arid  plains,  through  canons  that  had  lain  voice- 
less as  their  stones  for  centuries,  and  by  valleys  so  green 
and  smiling  that  they  seemed  the  Edens  of  an  uninhabited 
world.  Since  then  the  experience  has  been  a  thousand 
times  repeated,  and  is  as  old  to  the  American  regular  as 
the  manual  of  arms. 

One  night  the  camp  lay  in  tired  sleep  in  the  mountain 
starlight,  brilliant  almost  as  the  moonlight  of  thicker  at- 
mospheres. The  post  was  less  than  fifty  miles  away. 
Discipline  relaxed,  the  sentinel,  ragged  and  tired,  sat 
nodding  upon  a  rock.  Now  and  then  a  coyote,  antici- 
pating the  feast  of  the  morning,  looked  treacherously 
over  the  rocky  ledge,  and  retired  and  chattered  to  his 
companions.  The  rabbit  looked  curiously  at  this  new 
invasion  of  his  wilderness,  and  laying  his  long  ears  down, 
bounded  noiselessly  away.  Of  all  the  seventy  tired  men, 
there  was  but  one  who  took  note  of  these  things.  Mari- 
ano lay  tired  and  restless  looking  at  the  stars.  How  many 


THE  SCOUT'S  MISTAKE.  63 

strange  things  had  lately  occurred  to  disturb  the  scout's 
healthful  life,  he  alone  knew,  and  he  was  even  now 
thinking  of  the  morning  when  near  the  same  spot  he  had 
found  the  footsteps  in  the  sand.  A  new  and  disturbing 
influence  had  come  upon  him.  But  this  meditating  fron- 
tiersman little  knew  how  much  his  heart  had  to  do  with  it. 
Suddenly  his  alert  senses  caught  a  sound.  'Not  the 
barking  of  the  coyote,  or  the  timid  gallop  of  the  rabbit. 
Thump,  thump,  thump, — faint  and  dull,  but  still  a  defi- 
nite and  intermittent  sound.  They  who  have  lain  in  fron- 
tier camps  could  hardly  fail  to  recognize  it  from  its  very 
suggestion.  It  was  the  driving  of  a  picket-pin.  So  dim 
and  muffled  it  was  that  none  but  the  scout  would  have 
heeded  it.  And  it  was  not  the  sound  that  was  strange, 
but  the  circumstance ;  and  Mariano  knew  as  he  listened 
that  it  was  the  Apache's  wooden  pin  driven  with  a  stone. 
Then  he  rose  up  stealthily,  and  so  noiselessly  that  none 
heard  him,  and  took  his  gun  and  crept  away.  Every 
sense  was  alert  and  keen  as  the  tiger's  when  he  watches 
for  his  prey.  What,  he  thought,  if  after  all  the  expedi- 
tion should  not  be  unsuccessful.  The  sound  ceased,  and 
he  crouched  upon  his  knees  and  slowly  crept  on.  Then 
he  waited  and  listened,  and  now  the  sound  that  came  to 
his  ears  was  one  which  only  he  would  have  heard  or  rec- 
ognized— the  faint  tearing,  crackling  whisper,  with,  at 
long  intervals,  a  slow,  dull  footstep.  It  was  that  sign 
which  not  even  an  Indian  can  prevent — a  pony,  grazing. 
He  must  be  near  now ;  the  gray  dawn  is  breaking  in  the 
east,  and  moments  are  hours.  As  the  scout  crept  nearer 
and  peered  over  the  low  rocks  he  saw  the  pony  grazing 
at  the  end  of  his  tether,  and  a  figure, — were  there  two  ? 
— seated  upon  the  ground.  As  he  watched  them  he  saw 
that  they  were  few,  and  wondered  as  much  as  he  had  at 


64  THE  SCOUT'S  MISTAKE. 

the  footprints.  Had  Indians  lost  all  cunning,  or  had  he  ? 
He  grew  tired  of  waiting  and  rose  up  and  walked  rapidly 
down  the  slope  towards  them.  Then  two  figures,  indis- 
tinct in  the  morning  gray,  darted  away  up  the  opposite 
slope,  one  of  them  leading  the  other  by  the  hand,  The 
instinct  of  the  Indian-hunter  was  strong  in  him,  and  the 
thirst  for  the  blood  of  his  game  came  upon  him.  With- 
out a  thought  of  the  fateful  consequences  of  the  swift 
messenger  to  him,  he  raised  his  gun,  and  with  one  hasty 
glance  along  the  barrel,  fired  upon  the  retreating  figures. 
The  kindermost  fell,  and  as  the  echoes  of  the  shot  died 
away  on  the  desert  stillness  the  scout  drew  near  the  vic- 
tim of  his  skill. 

There  in  the  gray  light  lay  a  woman  whose  long  gray 
hair  was  tangled  in  the  coarse  grass.  Her  face  was  worn 
and  wrinkled  with  the  suffering  of  years,  but  in  the 
pallid  features  and  the  dying  eyes  was  something  far  from 
Indian  origin.  It  was  a  poem, — a  story  of  faded  beauty 
and  long  waiting,  melting  at  last  into  the  shadows  of 
death.  And  beside  her  knelt  the  other,  a  shapely  crea- 
ture whose  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  and  whose  hand 
trembled  as  she  held  before  the  filmy  eyes  a  small  white 
cross,  beside  which  glittered  one  of  yellow  gold. 

When  at  last,  awakened  by  the  shot,  the  soldiers  came, 
the  dare-devil  scout  lay  prone  upon  the  earth  beside  a 
corpse.  His  face  was  hidden  upon  the  dead  breast,  and 
while  his  strong  frame  was  convulsed  in  agony,  his  big 
brown  hand  caressed  his  mother's  pallid  face.  And 
Kate, — poor,  innocent,  ignorant  Kate, — born  in  the  wil- 
derness, but  gathering  nevertheless  something  of  that 
knowledge  which  only  mothers  teach,  who  had  used  her 
captivity  to  learn  where  and  how  to  bring  her  mother 
back  and  herself  to  return  to  her  lover,  and  with  the  cun- 


65 

ning  learned  of  her  wild  life  had  followed  close  upon  the 
trail  of  the  white  men  for  security  from  pursuit  by  her 
own  kindred,  sat  and  looked  upon  the  scene,  the  cross 
in  her  hand,  and  her  big  eyes  full  of  wonder  and  horror 
and  grief. 

The  very  plainest  life  has  in  it  may  strange  events,  but 
it  would  be  sad  indeed  if  the  loves  and  sorrows  which 
come  to  us  all,  ever  resulted  as  the  story-makers  would 
fain  have  them.  The  clouds  pass,  the  sunshine  comes  at 
last,  and  we  find  that  of  life's  cup  the  very  lees  are  sweet. 
The  half-breed  girl  learned  afterwards  to  understand  more 
fully  the  meaning  of  the  symbol  which  had  been  her 
mother's  one  poor  keep-sake  of  home,  happiness  and  re- 
ligion, and  how  she  was  the  second  child  of  captivity. 
She  had  many  a  lover  afterwards,  but  never  a  brother. 
Long  ago  the  mother  of  swarthy  sons,  she  tells  to  the 
youngest  on  her  knee  the  curious  story  of  the  camp  and 
the  captivity,  and  shows  him  a  small  white  cross.  But 
she  leaves  out  of  the  story  the  sad  death  upon  the  hill- 
side, and  says  nothing  of  the  remorseful  and  gloomy 
hermit,  who,  far  in  the  hill-country  sits  beside  his  door, 
bankrupt  in  all  the  ties  of  kindred  and  love,  and  striving 
still  in  the  very  luxury  of  vindictiveness,  to  quench  the 
remorse  in  his  heart,  and  wash  out  in  many  an  Indian's 
life-blood,  the  stain  upon  his  own  red  hands. 


COPPER-DISTILLED. 


THOSE  have  been  masterly  efforts  of  romance  which, 
without  any  foundation  in  truth,  have  created  the 
widely  accepted  picture  of  the  ideal  American  Indian. 
When  confronted  with  the  actual  hero,  the  creations  of 
Cooper  cease  to  attract,  and,  indeed,  become  in  that 
sense  ridiculous.  Lordly,  eloquent,  brave,  faithful  and 
truthful,  he  made  those  sons  of  the  forest  whose  scattered 
children  now  linger  upon  coveted  reservations,  and  in 
worthlessness  and  squalor  await  final  extermination. 
Filthy,  cunning,  cowardly,  treacherous  and  thievish,  are 
their  near  relations  who  still  wander  in  independence  west 
of  us.  Every  tradition  repeating  the  story  of  Indian 
bravery,  generosity  and  hospitality  fades  like  mist  before 
the  actual  man.  The  instinct  of  baseness  runs  through 
the  whole  family,  from  King  Philip  and  Red  Jacket  down 
to  Sa-tan-te  and  he  of  the  variegated  continuation.  The 
common  incidents  of  savagery  are  intensified  in  the  race. 
Brave  only  in  superior  numbers  or  under  cover;  honest 
only  in  hypocrisy ;  merry  only  at  the  sight  of  suffering 
inflicted  by  his  own  hand ;  friendly  and  hospitable  only 
through  cunning ;  and  sublimely  mendacious  always,  the 
Indian  as  he  is  actually  known  seems  poor  material  out 
of  which  to  manufacture  a  hero,  or  frame  a  romance. 
All  the  efforts  made  in  his  behalf  have  failed  generally 
to  change  his  status  or  alter  his  life.  Prominent  as  he 
has  always  been  in  American  history ;  always  the  imped- 
iment to  be  removed,  and  afterwards  the  dependant  to 
be  supported;  mollified  by  semi-annual  gifts,  oiled  and 


COPPER-DISTILLED.  67 

pacified  by  periodical  talks  about  the  Great  Father  and 
blarney  about  "brothers;  "  through  campaigns,  councils, 
treaties  and  tribal  reservations,  he  has  come  at  last  to 
within  a  few  years  of  the  end  of  his  race,  with  only  the 
one  redeeming  fact  upon  his  record,  that  he  has  never 
been  thoroughly  tamed,  and  has  never  been  a  servant. 
Neither  has  the  hyena. 

The  reservation  Indian  is  no  curiosity.  The  red  blanket, 
the  variegated  shirt,  the  shanky  legs  and  the  barbaric 
jewelry  are  recognized  daily  on  the  street.  But  the  de- 
tails of  an  unsought  and  early  relinquished  acquaintance 
with  the  wilder  tribes  of  the  Plains  and  mountains  may 
more  probably  contain  here  and  there  an  item  of  interest. 

If  you  know  the  Indian  of  Eastern  Kansas,  you  need 
have  no  difficulty  in  recognizing  his  brother  of  the  Plains. 
The  family  resemblance  is  complete.  Stolidity,  silence, 
and  an  indifference  which  passes  for  dignity,  are  the 
noticeable  features.  The  camp  is  the  epitome  of  Indian 
domestic  life.  There  is  the  "  tepe,"  or  lodge,  from  which 
was  taken  the  idea  of  that  famous  and  cumbersome  tent 
which  is  connected  with  every  one's  recollections  of  the 
first  year  of  the  war.  Of  the  two,  the  Indian's  is  the 
better  tent.  Those  white,  neatly-sewed  skins  which  form 
the  cover  represent  many  weeks  of  hard  squaw  labor, 
and  the  many  poles,  worn  and  smooth  by  constant  drag- 
ging, came  from  the  mountains  hundreds  of  miles  away. 
Within  this  is  gathered  all  there  is  of  Indian  wealth  and 
comfort.  Around  the  walls  are  arranged  the  piles  of  furs 
which  are  the  beds  of  a  numerous  family,  and  which, 
in  the  intervals  of  occupation,  are  usurped  by  a  horde  of 
dogs.  The  fire  of  "  chips"  is  kindled  in  the  centre,  and 
the  smoke  is  left  to  find  its  way  out  because  of  the  inte- 
rior being  too  full  to  hold  any  more.  Between  the  irreg- 


68  COPPER-DISTILLED. 

ular  rows  of  tents  straggle  the  unoccupied  population, — 
children,  young  men  and  warriors.  Dangling  from  sad- 
dles, tied  to  saplings,  hung  upon  every  available  projec- 
tion, are  pieces  of  buffalo-meat,  the  whole  sum  of  the 
ordinary  commissariat,  in  all  stages  of  odorous  decay. 

Everywhere  and  always,  the  men  are  idle  and  the 
squaws  at  work.  The  ancient  crone, — gaunt,  haggard 
and  toothless, — is  never  old  enough  to  be  idle.  To  her 
lot  falls  all  the  endless  labor  of  a  nomadic  life.  Her 
position  for  all  time  is  that  of  a  slave.  She  is  whipped, 
abused,  driven  like  a  beast  of  burden.  She  is  bought 
and  sold  as  a  chattel ;  and  even  her  Indian  education  is 
limited  to  one  lesson, — to  toil  and  be  silent.  Neverthe- 
less, in  all  that  is  peculiarly  Indianesque,  she  excels  her 
teachers.  In  cunning,  hatred  and  revenge,  in  the  special- 
ties of  cruelty  and  the  refinements  of  torture,  she  has  no 
equal  on  earth.  The  saddest  fate  which  awaits  the  cap- 
tive is  to  be  given  over  to  the  squaws. 

There  is  no  more  beauty  extant  among  Indian  "  maid- 
ens," than  there  is  among  the  gorillas.  Never  were  the 
ugly  features  which  pertain  to  the  unmixed  race  modified 
for  beauty's  sake.  More  wonderfully  false  than  even 
Cooper's  tales,  are  the  poems  which  descant  upon  the 
charms  of  dusky  love.  Poetic  license  is  a  wanton  and 
wayward  thing,  and  has  been  made  to  caper  nimbly  to 
strange  tunes  ere  now.  But  the  man  who  invented  In- 
dian idealism,  and  clothed  the  ragged,  wretched,  brutal, 
insect-haunted  squaw  with  love,  and  did  it  awake  and 
knowingly,  ought  to  have  been  born  early  enough  to  have 
followed  Dante  on  his  sulphurous  pilgrimage,  and  not 
have  returned. 

It  is  an  experience  probably  not  to  be  objected  to  for 
once,  but  a  repetition  of  which  is  not  desirable,  to  watch 


COPPER-DISTILLED.  69 

for  an  hour  the  operations  going  on  in  this  aggregation  of 
unwashed  humanity.  There  is  the  young  squaw,  who 
has  become  the  possessor  of  some  flour,  and  who  is  en- 
gaged in  transforming  the  same  into  bread.  She  has  a 
small  fire,  a  battered  iron  pan,  and  near  by  is  a  pool  of 
muddy  water.  She  pours  in  a  quantum  of  water,  and 
stirs  the  mass  into  proper  congruity.  Presently  she  wipes 
her  fingers  upon  her  encrusted  blanket,  and  places  the 
cakes  in  the  ashes.  Near  by  sits  an  old  woman,  prepar- 
ing a  freshly-killed  carcass  for  that  process  after  which  it 
is  "jerked"  beef.  She  sits  upon  the  ground,  surrounded 
by  every  variety  of  animal  remains.  Her  task  is  to  cut 
the  whole  carcass  into  long  thin  strips  for  drying.  But 
the  operator  is  the  principal  curiosity.  Gray-haired, 
wrinkled  and  haggard,  her  dried  limbs  scarce  concealed 
by  rags,  she  is  the  very  picture  of  toiling  wretchedness. 
You  may  stand  for  an  hour  regarding  these  two  persons, 
you  may  laugh,  question  and  gesticulate,  and  they  will 
not  betray  by  sign  or  look  the  knowledge  of  your  presence. 

If  you  would  see  the  very  pink  of  hauteur  and  personal 
pride,  do  but  regard  yon  gaunt  and  greasy  son  of  the 
wilderness,  who  is  as  much  an  adept  in  style  as  any  of 
the  mistaken  scions  of  civilization.  He  is  as  unconscious 
of  his  odors  as  though  redolent  of  patchouli.  He  is  un- 
washed, and  nearly  naked  save  in  the  respect  of  paint, 
and  if  the  impolite  truth  must  be  told,  swarming  with 
that  industrious  insect  to  which  the  Scottish  poet  wrote 
an  apostrophe.  He  regards  you  with  folded  arms  and 
defiant  face,  and  would  fain  impress  you  with  the  opinion 
that  he  is  indeed  "  heap." 

In  Indian  society,  every  family  is  the  producer  of  all 
articles  required  in  daily  life.  Clothing,  food  and  weap- 
ons are  all  manufactured  from  the  original  material. 


70  COPPER-DISTILLED. 

Barter  and  exchange  were  introduced  by  white  men,  ex- 
cept so  far  as  so  many  ponies  and  robes  purchased  a 
wife ;  and  left  to  themselves,  each  family  is  self-support- 
ing, and  comprises  in  itself  the  whole  plan  of  patriarchal 
government.  Resources  are  few,  and  in  this  or  any 
camp,  may  be  seen  in  an  hour  the  whole  system  of  Indian 
economy.  There  are  the  squaws  who  bring  fuel  and 
water,  and  others  engaged  in  the  long  and  tedious  process 
of  stretching  and  scraping  that  finally  produces  the  white, 
pliable  and  elaborately  ornamented  robe,  which  is  the 
representative  of  Indian  comfort  and  wealth.  In  these 
processes  there  is  nothing  wasted.  Every  sinew  is  saved. 
Indian  hunting  is  not  pleasure-seeking  slaughter,  but  ne- 
cessity. He  is  as  cautious  of  the  waste  of  life  among  the 
herds  of  the  Plains,  as  the  white  man  is  of  the  thrift  and 
well-being  of  his  tame  herds,  and  for  the  same  reason ; 
from  the  buffalo,  aided  with  a  little  wood,  all  his  life's 
necessities  are  capable  of  being  manufactured. 

Indian  life  is  full  of  pomp  and  ceremony,  and  in  every 
camp,  while  the  women  toil  stolidly,  the  men  are  engaged 
in  some  ceremony  which  is  necessary  for  the  proper  cele- 
bration of  their  feats  in  arms  or  their  success  in  future 
enterprises.  The  indian  is  a  great  braggart,  and  he  who 
can  boast  loudest  and  longest  is  the  greatest  man.  It  is 
to  obtain  an  opportunity  for  this  that  a  "  dance  "  of  some 
kind  is  always  in  progress.  Their  names  and  purposes 
are  nearly  innumerable,  and  the  candid  uninitiated  is  not 
able  to  perceive  any  great  difference  in  the  screams,  leapa 
and  horrible  hootings  which  characterize  them  all.  Some 
of  these  dances  are  said  to  be  religious ;  but  all  there  is 
of  religious  sentiment  is  condensed  in  the  word  "  medi- 
cine/' Everything  in  Indian  life  belongs  to  one  of  two 
classes;  it  is  either  good  or  bad  medicine.  Camping- 


COPPER-DISTILLED.  71 

places  where  some  calamity  has  befallen  them  are  ever 
afterwards  avoided  as  "  bad  medicine."  The  days  and 
places  which  witnessed  some  defeat  in  arms  are  classed 
in  the  same  category ;  and  all  things  which  are  fortunate 
are  classed  upon  the  opposite  side.  The  high-priest  of 
this  religion  is  the  celebrated  "  medicine-man."  I  do 
not  know  what  are  the  necessary  qualifications  for  this 
high  calling,  but  am  forced  to  confess  that  the  only  per- 
ceivable difference  between  him  and  his  fellows  is  that  he 
is,  if  possible,  raggeder,  lazier  and  dirtier  than  they. 

You  would  naturally  infer  that  begging  would  be  in- 
compatible with  the  Indian  character.  By  no  means ;  he 
is  the  most  persistent  and  importunate  beggar  on  this 
continent.  Governmental  discipline  has  taught  him  that 
every  white  man  owes  him  something,  and  that  he  ought 
to  have  it.  Failing  in  this,  he  immediately  wants  to 
"swap."  Among  the  chattels  offered  in  exchange  is 
frequently  his  squaw.  The  white  man's  inability  to  see 
the  advantages  accruing  from  this  business  operation 
seems  to  the  Indian  a  peculiar  trait.  One  of  the  strong- 
est evidences  of  idiocy,  to  him,  is  the  well-known  fact 
that  he  can  get  more  for  a  robe,  a  pony,  or  even  a  paltry 
bow-and-arrow,  than  he  could  for  a  whole  family  of 
gquaws. 

The  language  of  the  Indian  is  peculiar.  Any  man  can 
"  talk  Indian  " — not  speak  it, — who  has  any  skill  in  pan- 
tomime. The  comparatively  few  words  they  use  are 
coarse  and  guttural.  The  mellifluous  Indian  names  of 
mountains,  streams  and  towns  must  not  be  taken  as  spec- 
imens of  the  dialect.  In  lieu  of  words  they  use  signs, 
and  mainly  depend  upon  them  for  communication,  even 
among  themselves.  A  class  of  deaf  mutes  are  hardly 
more  expert  than  they  in  communicating  ideas  without 


72  COPPER-DISTILLED. 

sounds.  I  have  seen  long  conversations  carried  on  between 
some  very  communicative  specimens  of  copper  color, 
and  army  officers,  only  prefaced  by  the  word  "  how," — 
which  the  Indian  takes  as  a  compendium  of  all  it  is 
necessary  to  know  of  English.  A  circular  motion  of  the 
hand  over  the  head  indicates  a  day;  a  jog-trot  movement 
indicates  a  horse ;  and  the  two  together  indicate  a  day's 
journey.  A  still  different  movement  of  the  hand  denotes 
a  buffalo, — indicating  in  a  way  not  to  be  misunderstood 
the  peculiar  gait  of  that  animal.  Numbers  are  indicated 
by  rapidly  throwing  up  the  fingers,  displaying  as  many 
as  answers  to  the  number  to  be  expressed.  Of  course 
there  are  words  enough  in  the  various  dialects  to  express 
all  those  things  common  to  Indian  life,  but  the  panto- 
mime is  always  used  as  an  indispensable  adjunct. 

There  are  many  ideas  extant  concerning  Indian  skill 
and  cunning  which  are  incorrect  and  extravagant.  The 
trapper  and  hunter  of  the  Far  West,  the  Voyageur,  and, 
indeed,  most  of  those  men  whose  tastes  lead  them  to  fol- 
low a  frontier  life,  are  capable  of  outwitting  the  Indian 
in  almost  every  instance.  The  trade  they  learn  from  him, 
they  excel  him  in.  Of  course  the  Indian  is  possessed 
largely  of  the  talent  of  stealth,  being  by  nature  and  ne- 
cessity a  hunter.  He  has  an  instinct  of  cunning,  which 
has  sometimes  been  dignified  by  the  name  of  strategy; 
but  in  his  operations  against  his  white  competitors  he 
knows  nothing  of  that  kind  of  strategy  which  is  a  degree 
nobler  than  lying.  He  can  cover  his  head  with  earth  and 
lie  among  the  rocks  at  the  roadside,  and  concealing  his 
sinister  visage  by  his  strategy,  speed  an  arrow  after  the 
unwary  traveller.  He  can  occupy  thirty-six  hours,  as  I 
have  known  him  to  do,  in  crawling  a  few  rods  distance 
to  steal  a  mule,  and  finally  succeed  in  his  purpose.  He 


COPPER-DISTILLED.  73 

will  smoke  the  pipe,  which  is  the  universally  recognized 
emblem  of  peace,  with  many  signs  of  amity  and  many 
pacific  grunts,  and  the  same  day  lance  you  in  the  back. 
He  will  be  at  great  pains  to  make  a  false  trail.  He  will 
imitate  the  sounds  of  nature,  and  by  a  thousand  devices 
attempt  to  mislead.  But  he  has  not  a  fraud  in  his  whole 
repertory  in  which  the  white  man  has  not  long  since 
learned  to  outwit  him. 

The  few  white  men  who  have  abandoned  civilization 
and  race  for  Indian  society,  aiding  him  by  a  white  man's 
knowledge  of  his  race  in  their  expeditions,  are  leaders, 
not  followers.  It  is  superfluous  to  add  that  they  are  the 
more  dangerous  of  the  two,  and  have  just  sufficient  hu- 
manity left  to  cause  them  to  choose  rather  to  reign  in  hell 
than  serve  in  heaven. 

The  faculty  of  reading  the  face  of  nature,  so  common 
on  the  frontier,  is  one  which  we  are  apt  to  consider  an 
instinct,  To  the  Indian,  the  light  step  of  the  antelope 
is  as  plain  as  the  track  of  a  tornado.  He  tells  the  num- 
ber and  kind  of  his  enemies,  and  the  hours  since  they 
passed.  He  invented  a  system  of  telegraphy  before  the 
days  of  Morse,  and  the  smoke  upon  the  distant  hill,  or- 
the  brief  fire  upon  the  mountain-side,  conveys  to  him 
information  which  he  never  misunderstands.  He  trav- 
erses the  monotonous  surface  of  a  vast  wilderness,  and 
with  an  instinct  as  unerring  as  that  of  the  bison  reaches 
his  destination.  He  hovers  for  days  upon  the  path  of  his 
enemy,  always  near  and  always  watching,  but  never  seen 
or  heard  save  by  those  who  have  learned  his  art.  All 
these  things  the  white  man  has  stolen  from  him,  and,  as 
is  usual  in  evil  teachings,  even  excels  his  tutor.  There 
are  a  large  number  of  men  on  the  frontier  who  gain  a 
livelihood  by  outwitting  the  Indian  at  his  own  game. 
6 


74  COPPER-DISTILLED. 

It  is  a  mistake  to  regard  the  weapons  of  the  Indian  as 
rude  and  inefficient,  and  to  wonder  how  he  managed  be- 
fore the  introduction  of  fire-arms.  The  ancient  bow-and- 
arrow,  probably  the  first  study  in  the  science  of  projec- 
tiles, used  in  all  climes  and  races,  is  now,  in  the  hands 
of  an  Indian,  one  of  the  most  effective  of  weapons.  The 
wiseacres  of  civilization  ridicule  Benjamin  Franklin's 
mistake  in  recommending  that  the  Colonial  troops  should 
be  supplied  with  this  weapon.  As  usual,  the  genius  of 
common  sense  was  right,  for  it  is  infinitely  more  con- 
venient and  effective  than  a  Queen  Anne  musket.  By  the 
Indian  it  is  used  in  its  common  form,  and  is  simply  a 
piece  of  elastic  wood,  supplied  with  a  string  made  from 
sinews.  The  arrow  is  sometimes  an  elaborate  specimen 
of  handicraft.  It  is  about  twenty-eight  inches  in  length, 
elaborately  feathered  and  ornamented.  The  ornamenta- 
tion is  peculiar  to  the  tribe,  and  the  head  is  of  iron,  some- 
times of  flint,  and  is  fastened  to  the  wood  by  a  very  neat 
and  ingenious  wrapping  of  fine  sinew.  This  slight  and 
fragile  shaft  will  transfix  the  huge  body  of  the  buffalo, 
coming  out  upon  the  other  side.  It  penetrates  where  the 
huge  modern  bullet  is  flattened  or  turned  aside.  It  is 
noiseless,  and  at  twenty  yards  seldom  misses  its  mark. 
Once  wounded,  there  is  small  chance  of  recovery,  for 
the  dried  sinew  relaxes  in  moisture,  and  the  wood  comes 
away  and  leaves  an  inextricable  triangle  of  iron  behind. 

Indian  fighting  is  not  the  placid  and  trifling  thing  it  is 
sometimes  imagined  to  be.  The  Plains  Indian  is  a  mas- 
ter of  horsemanship.  He  rides  upon  a  stuffed  pad  or 
blanket,  and  the  surcingle  or  girth  is  furnished  with  a 
loop  on  each  side,  in  which  upon  occasion  he  inserts  his 
foot  and  thus  hangs  upon  that  side  of  his  horse  which  is 
opposite  his  enemy,  almost  entirely  concealed.  Rapidly 


COPPER-DISTILLED.  75 

riding  in  a  circle,  he  discharges  his  arrows  under  his 
pony's  neck,  or  over  his  back.  The  Indian  idea  of  strat- 
egy is  to  harass,  to  exhaust  resources  and  draw  prema- 
ture fire.  To  this  end  he  is  constantly  in  motion,  here 
and  there  like  a  flash.  But  of  late  years  his  tactics  need 
a  revision.  As  usual,  his  white  adversaries  have  learned 
more  of  him  than  he  knows  himself.  The  modern  soldier, 
trained  in  the  mysteries  of  the  skirmish-drill,  quietly 
drops  down  in  his  place  at  the  bugle-call,  and  from  those 
weapons  which  are  a  triumph  of  celerity,  accuracy  and 
force,  speeds  after  his  foe  the  messenger  which  weighs 
an  ounce  and  a  half,  and  which,  singing  as  it  goes,  tum- 
bles many  a  savage  rider  nine  hundred  yards  away. 

This  is  Plains  fighting.  There  is  another  system  in 
vogue  among  the  mountains  in  N"ew  Mexico.  There  all 
is  concealment.  There  is  no  sound,  and  from  behind  the 
rocks  in  the  canon,  or  concealed  among  the  sage-brush 
and  cactus,  the  arrow  is  sped  which  cuts  short  many  an 
unconscious  life.  The  Indian  dead  and  wounded  are 
never  left  on  the  field.  A  pride  which  is  natural  enough, 
makes  it  desirable  that  his  losses  should  not  be  counted, 
and  his  scalps  should  not  be  taken,  to  be  danced  and  ex- 
ulted over. 

The  name  of  Great  Spirit  figures  largely  in  all  reports 
of  Indian  oratory,  just  as  the  name  of  Deity  is  freely 
used  in  the  stirring  appeals  of  second-class  politicians. 
The  Great  Idea  is  as  much  a  myth  to  the  one  as  to  the 
other.  The  system  of  theology  which  prevails  &mong 
the  Indians  is  merely  a  superstitious  fear  of  something 
they  cannot  understand.  In  common  with  every  race, 
the  Indian  believes  in  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  and 
iii  a  hereafter.  What  kind  of  heaven  or  hell  he  has  im- 
agined for  himself,  no  man  can  tell.  There  are  no  strictly 


76  COPPER-DISTILLED. 

religious  forms  extant  among  them,  and  nothing  that  is 
regarded  as  especially  sacred.  The  religious  idea  is  far 
from  prominent,  and  seems  almost  entirely  included  in 
the  "  medicine  "  business,  heretofore  referred  to.  Super- 
stition is  a  different  thing,  and  of  that  there  is  plenty. 
As  instances,  when  a  horse  is  stolen,  each  man  must 
strike  him  at  least  one  blow ;  when  a  traveller  is  mur- 
dered, each  gallant  participant  in  the  honor  must  leave 
at  least  one  arrow  in  the  body  of  the  victim. 

Of  course,  in  speaking  of  the  Indian,  the  common 
class  is  the  criterion ;  but,  as  is  well  known,  the  red  race 
is  not  without  its  prominent  examples  of  force,  dignity 
and  comparative  greatness.  King  Philip,  Tecumseh  and 
Billy  Bowlegs  are  already  historic  characters.  Sa-tan-te 
and  some  of  the  other  Chiefs  who  met  Hancock  in  coun- 
cil in  1866  were  in  their  way  remarkable  men.  In  them, 
at  least,  the  common  farce  of  Indian  dignity  was  con- 
densed into  something  like  the  genuine  article.  The  In- 
dian stands  in  no  awe  of  dignitaries,  for  his  firm  con- 
viction is  that  the  meanest  of  his  race  stands  at  the  head 
and  front  of  all  created  intelligence.  It  is  a  national 
egotism,  like  that  of  the  Chinese.  When  he  goes  to 
Washington,  and  attracts  attention,  and  is  interviewed 
and  stared  at,  he  thinks  it  is  because  he  is  great  and 
envied.  In  his  mental  constitution  he  entirely  lacks  the 
faculty  of  appreciation.  He  knows  that  the  telegraph 
wires  "  whisper"  strange  stories  in  the  ears  of  the  white 
man,  and  that  insensate  paper  "  talks,"  but  the  knowl- 
edge of  these  things  induces  no  respect  for  the  people 
who  make  use  of  them.  He  accepts  them  as  facts,  and 
wonders  at  them  as  much  as  dignity  permits ;  but  the 
idea  that  they  are  any  evidence  of  knowledge  superior  to 
his,  never  enters  his  mind. 


COPPER-DISTILLED.  77 

With  the  old  story  of  barbarity,  cruelty  and  rapine, 
the  world  has  long  been  familiar.  Let  no  man  imagine 
in  the  simplicity  of  his  heart,  and  in  his  charity  for  "  the 
poor  Indian,"  that  the  story  has  been  exaggerated.  In- 
dian atrocities  which  have  come  directly  to  the  knowl- 
edge of  the  writer,  truthfully  delineated,  are  unfit  for 
the  ears  of  civilized  mankind.  It  would  be  nearly  im- 
possible for  any  man  acquainted  personally  with  the  his- 
tory of  the  last  six  years  upon  the  Plains  to  look  his 
neighbor  in  the  face  and  calmly  tell  what  he  has  seen. 
Upon  the  Indian  question,  the  Government,  at  its  very 
heart  and  centre,  is  divided  against  itself.  The  costly 
and  intricate  machines  of  two  great  internal  departments 
are  running  in  opposition  to  each  other.  The  greater 
portion  of  the  army  is  sent  to  the  frontier  for  the  sole 
purpose  of  fighting  Indians.  Every  incentive  to  vigilance 
and  unceasing  effort  is  used.  Naturally  there  can  be  no 
playfulness  or  indirection  in  military  affairs.  The  train- 
ing of  every  soldier  is  to  the  effect  that  war  is  war,  con- 
ducted with  unremitting  energy.  In  fighting  Indians,  as 
in  every  other  case,  if  this  be  not  the  understanding, 
inculcated  and  enforced  by  every  order,  then  the  frontier 
is  better  without  protection.  But  the  Indian  Bureau  has 
a  different  understanding.  In  one  district  or  department, 
an  Indian  campaign  is  being  carried  on  with  vigor ;  and 
in  the  adjoining  district  or  department,  they  are  being 
fed  and  furnished  with  arms,  and  frequently  the  same 
tribe  is  the  recipient  of  both  systems  of  treatment.  So 
long  as  there  remains  in  the  system  the  element  of  mil- 
tary  force,  there  should  be  no  attempt  to  introduce  also 
the  incompatible  element  of  persuasion.  I  believe  there 
was  never  before  an  instance  of  a  government  at  the  same 
time  feeding,  coaxing  and  fighting  its  enemies.  Some- 


78  COPPER-DISTILLED. 

thing  of  the  kind  was  tried  during  the  first  eighteen 
months  of  the  last  war,  and,  it  is  now  generally  thought,, 
failed  to  be  the  proper  medicine  for  the  complaint.  The 
peace  upon  the  Plains  is  the  result,  solely,  of  a  vigorous 
winter's  military  campaign. 

This  is  an  ultra-Missouri  view  of  the  case,  but,  as  iu 
the  South-west  at  least,  peace  and  safety  are  still  in  the 
distance,  and  theory  arid  necessity  still  at  war  with  each 
other,  the  banks  of  the  Rio  Grande  seem  as  fair  a  stand- 
point from  which  to  judge  the  case  as  the  banks  of  the 
Hudson  or  Potomac. 

In  any  event,  the  Indian  is  doomed.  The  inscrutable 
purpose  for  which  he  was  created  is  almost  accomplished. 
On  general  grounds,  it  is  much  better  that  he  should  go. 
A  slight  personal  acquaintance  is  sufficient  to  convince 
any  one  that  he  lacks  the  instinct  of  self-preservation. 
He  would  rather  be  aggressive  and  die,  than  be  peaceful 
and  live. 

It  matters  not  that  in  the  midst  of  ease  and  safety  good 
men  have  leisure  to  write  humanitarian  letters,  thousands 
of  miles  from  where  scalps  are  lifted  without  regard 
to  the  peaceful  wisdom  and  high  purposes  they  cover. 
The  land  trespassed  upon  belongs  to  the  Indian,  and 
he  is  justified  in  resistance.  Granted.  For  so  did  once 
New  England  belong  to  him.  And  once  all  belonged  to 
Adam.  But  there  is  no  freehold  save  under  the  laws  of 
civilization.  In  the  time  to  come,  the  territory  of  the 
world  will  be  lawfully  claimed  only  by  those  who  use  it 
for  God's  first  purpose,  the  tilling  of  the  soil.  Theorize 
as  we  may,  the  westward  march  of  civilization,  with  all 
its  attendant  evils  and  final  results,  is  the  foreordination 
of  the  Almighty,  and  in  this  piece  of  bad  theology  but 
stubborn  fact,  lies  the  final  solution  of  the  Indian  question . 


JACK'S    DIVORCE. 


HOW  Black  Jack  came  to  be  sent  out  upon  his  ad- 
ventures bestridden  by  so  ill-sounding  a  name, 
never  transpired,  and  if  lie  ever  possessed  a  civilized, 
Christian  name,  no  one  in  those  parts  had  ever  heard  it. 
He  was  a  man  thoroughly  educated  by  the  frontier ;  and 
simplicity  of  character,  personal  courage,  and  dog-like 
faithfulness  were  to  him  natural  gifts. 

He  was  not  black,  and  except  that  he  had  upon  him 
the  ineffaceable  marks  of  sun  and  wind,  would  have  been 
more  than  ordinarily  fair.  His  hair  was  a  reddish  brown, 
and  his  keen  blue  eyes  had  that  steady  and  unflinching 
gaze  which  bespeaks  in  its  owner  honesty  without  blem- 
ish, and  vision  without  flaw. 

It  is  not  enough  to  say  merely  that  Jack  was  a  fron- 
tiersman, because  in  some  instances  that  only  expresses 
an  accident,  and  not  a  character.  He  had  that  something 
about  him  which,  while  it  can  only  exist  on  the  border, 
is  yet  a  part  of  the  man.  Though  not  a  negative  man, 
he  was  one  of  those  of  whom  a  clearer  idea  can  be  ob- 
tained by  saying  what  he  was  not,  than  what  he  was. 
There  is  a  whole  world  in  which  all  the  famous  and  re- 
markable, and  nearly  all  the  disgraceful  and  mean,  trans- 
actions of  mankind  are  performed,  of  which  Jack  knew 
nothing. 

Women,  in  all  the  splendor  of  pearls  of  the  ocean  and 
gems  of  the  mine,  endowed  with  ail  the  refinements  of 
civilization,  and  the  tact  and  delicacy  born  of  cultivated 
life, — bland,  bewitching  and  fearfully  and  wonderfully 


80  JACK'S  DIVORCE. 

made  up, — he  had  never  even  seen.  Femininity  conveyed 
no  such  idea  to  him.  The  women  he  knew  were  only 
women  in  the  broad  sense  in  which  female  is  not  male. 
The  wharfs  and  depots  of  crowded  cities,  the  throng  of 
the  pavement  and  the  exchange,  the  crowd  and  jam  and 
bustle  of  trade,  broad  fields  and  paved  roads,  were  all 
crowded  out  of  his  conceptions  of  life  and  men,  and  he 
had  no  speculations  and  opinions  to  digest  concerning 
them.  He  had  never  heard  the  sound  of  church  bells, 
and  luckily  for  him,  was  entirely  ignorant  of  the  fateful 
differences  in  creeds  which  exist  among  those  who  dili- 
gently seek  after  the  truth. 

In  his  ignorance  of  all  that  is  fashionable,  and  most 
that  is  bad  among  civilized  mankind,  he  was  even  igno- 
rant of  the  praises  and  luxuries  men  sometimes  earn  by 
dying;  and  the  velvet  turf  and  shaded  aisles,  the  fair 
monuments  and  flattering  epitaphs,  of  Greenwood  or 
Olivet  would  have  filled  him  with  astonishment.  His 
was  the  rock-piled  and  lonely  grave  of  the  wilderness, 
and  he  never  dreamed  that  a  palace  was  necessary  to  the 
welfare  of  mouldering  clay. 

If  the  schoolmaster  was  ever  abroad  in  Western  Ar- 
kansas, where  Jack  first  saw  the  light,  the  benign  influ- 
ence never  reached  his  mind.  He  could  not  read,  and 
was  innocent  of  the  primary  rules  of  arithmetic,  and  ev- 
erything else  in  the  way  of  books.  The  immense  liter- 
ature of  fiction  and  newspaperdom  was  something  he  had 
hardly  heard  of — and  yet,  (the  fact  is  stated  as  a  redeem- 
ing one,)  he  knew,  traditionally  as  it  were,  some  of 
Watts's  hymns,  and  could  repeat  them  with  the  same 
unction  and  pathos  with  which  the  childish  and  immortal 
lines  are  repeated  by  nearly  all  who  speak  the  English 
tongue. 


JACK'S  DIVORCE.  81 

But  Jack  was  not  a  grown-up  child.  He  lacked  none 
of  the  grand  essentials  which  go  to  make  up  the  curious 
biped  whose  ancestor  was  an  ape  and  whose  future  is — 
doubtful.  lie  spoke  the  mother  tongue  with  a  fluency 
equal  to  the  requirements  of  his  life,  and  he  spiced  and 
strengthened  it  with  that  piquant  slang  which  expresses 
so  much  in  a  few  words  that  it  is  a  pity  it  is  considered 
vulgar  to  use  it.  His  most  peculiar  characteristic,  how- 
ever, was  not  an  educational  one.  It  consisted  in  the 
almost  total  absence  of  personal  fear.  "Whole  armies  of 
men,  surging  masses  which  number  many  thousands, 
may,  and  often  do,  go  through  a  long  day  of  carnage 
without  any  instance  of  cowardice.  But  this  is  not  the 
kind  of  courage  he  possessed.  He  limped,  had  lost  a 
finger,  and  carried  an  ugly  scar  on  his  cheek.  But  all 
these  had  been  obtained  at  different  times,  and  all  in  In- 
dian fights.  But  not  for  glory.  With  no  particular  in- 
terest at  stake,  pecuniary  or  otherwise,  he  still  wandered 
through  the  canons  and  over  the  hills,  alone,  and  solely 
bent  on  killing  the  game  he  loved  to  hunt ;  apparently 
unmoved  by  repeated  encounters  and  former  escapes. 
Unless  questioned,  he  said  nothing  of  his  adventures. 
He  seemed  to  be  ignorant  of  any  manner  of  life  in  the 
conditions  of  which  was  included  the  common  essential 
of  personal  safety. 

Xor  was  Jack  an  unsocial  or  solitary  man.  While  he 
possessed  the  knowledge  to  go  anywhere  through  a  vast 
wilderness,  he  still  availed  himself,  when  he  could,  of  the 
society  of  his  fellow  men.  He  was  employed  as  a  laborer 
in  and  around  the  ranch  of  one  Newman,  near  a  military 
post.  He  was  faithful  and  hard-working,  and  in  the 
course  of  his  duty  undertook  alone  to  plough  and  sow  in 
wheat  a  piece  of  land,  twenty  miles  from  any  house,  and 


82  JACK'S  DIVORCE. 

in  a  country  much  prized  and  persistently  defended  by 
the  Apaches.  He  worked  with  his  revolvers  upon  his 
belt  and  his  rifle  in  his  hand.  He  fought  the  prairie  fire, 
always  a  fearful  enemy  in  the  wilderness,  which  his  ene- 
mies had  lighted  to  consume  his  cabin.  He  watched  his 
mules  night  after  night,  sleepless  and  undismayed,  to  save 
them  from  capture,  when  he  knew  that  his  inveterate 
enemies  were  near.  And  when  the  final  and  decided  at- 
tack came,  he  drove  his  team  before  him,  and  defended 
them  from  behind  ;  finally  got  them  into  the  cabin  where 
he  slept,  barred  the  door  and  drove  off  a  score  of  Indians 
by  firing  through  the  chinks  of  the  house,  and  finally 
came  off  victor,  though  wounded. 

There  is  a  certain  fire-arm,  which  all  have  seen,  and 
with  which  many  are  familiar.  The  name  of  the  inventor 
has  gone  down  to  posterity  with  something  very  like 
renown.  Skilfully  handled,  this  weapon  is  one  which 
few  like  to  face.  It  is  a  small  arsenal  of  rapid  and  sud- 
den death,  and  a  single  man,  skilled  in  the  use  of  Colt's 
revolver,  is  almost  equal  to  six  men,  each  armed  with  a 
weapon  which  fires  but  a  single  shot.  In  the  use  of  this 
pretty  toy,  Black  Jack  was  a  miracle,  even  among  his 
skilful  companions.  Without  any  deliberation,  he  would 
discharge  a  dozen  shots,  with  a  rapidity  and  certainty 
fearful  to  contemplate  in  connection  with  the  soft  and 
penetrable  quality  of  human  tissue.  He  was  a  walking 
mitraitteur.  Those  two  play-things  of  his,  worn  smooth 
by  constant  use,  never  left  his  person,  and  in  his  pouch 
he  carried  two  extra  cylinders  ready  for  insertion. 

This  was  one  reason  why  Jack  was  not  afraid  of  Indians. 
There  was  no  moment  when  eye  and  ear  were  not  alert, 
and  the  hand  was  always  ready.  He  frequently  remarked : 
"They  aint  got  me  yit;  a  man  can't  die  nohow  till  his 


83 

time  comes."  And  in  that  last  piece  of  philosophy  he 
lived  and  believed  with  so  profound  and  simple  a  faith 
that  it  seemed  a  pity  it  had  no  more  sense  in  it. 

But  simple  and  honest  as  was  the  life  of  this  gentle 
savage,  he  had  one  trouble,  and  that,  of  course,  had  a 
woman  and  love  in  it.  It  was  the  one  incident  which 
made  him  seem  like  the  men  around  him,  and  showed 
how  nearly  of  the  same  stuff  we  are  all  made. 

Dolores  was  the  handsomest  woman  Jack  had  ever 
known  in  his  wild  life.  She  was  Spanish,  had  been  as 
fair  as  a  brown-colored  nymph,  and  was  still  as  coquettish 
as  it  runs  in  her  race  to  be,  and  as  false  as  the  profane 
word  Shakspeare  uses  as  a  comparative.  She  was  only 
a  laundress  at  the  post,  but  her  eyes  were  black  and  her 
teeth  were  white,  and  she  caught  Jack  on  the  tender  side 
which  all  such  men  present  to  a  woman's  blandishments. 

Bold  as  he  had  been  in  his  latest  Indian  h'ght,  he  must 
needs  surrender  to  this  fragile  Senorita  while  recovering 
from  his  wounds.  Dolores  had  had  many  lovers.  She 
could  hardly  count  them  on  her  fingers.  Some  she  had 
discarded,  to-wit:  all  she  had  ever  had,  at  odd  times,  of 
her  own  race ;  and  some  had  discarded  her,  namely :  cer- 
tain American  Lotharios  who  could  be  faithful  long  to 
none.  But  she  was  not  broken-hearted,  nor  indeed  incon- 
solable, and  had  steadily  replaced  vacancies  by  new  re- 
cruits. And  last  came  honest  Jack,  whose  heart  she 
accepted  without  hesitation,  and  whose  money  she  spent 
without  remorse.  Doubtless  for  her  sake  Jack  would 
have  left  off  risking  his  life  among  the  Apaches.  There 
is  no  telling  but  that  he  might  in  time  have  been  induced 
to  live  in  a  town,  and  to  sleep  upon  a  bed. 

Now  it  must  be  understood  in  this  case,  as  in  all  others 
of  the  kind,  that  a  man's  liking  for  a  woman  is  not  con- 


.84  JACK'S  DIVORCE. 

trolled  by  any  trait  in  her  character.  Dolores  was  hand- 
some, she  knew  men  very  well,  and  she  practised  the  art 
of  coquetry  with  all  the  skill  of  her  race  and  her  sex. 
It  may  be  that  there  had  descended  to  her  through  a  long 
and  forgotten  line  some  of  the  cunning  graces  and  charms 
which  long  ago  distinguished  the  dames  of  old  Castile. 
She  had  at  least  the  softness,  the  subtle,  smooth  suavity, 
which  gives  to  the  women  of  the  Latin  race  a  peculiar 
attractiveness  to  the  bluff  Anglo  Saxon. 

So  she  married  the  hunter,  after  the  manner  of  the 
country ;  and  well  it  was,  to  one  whose  vows  sat  with 
such  habitual  lightness,  that  the  ceremony  was  of  no 
more  binding  a  character.  In  was  bona  fide  to  Jack, 
however,  and  they  two  lived  together  in  a  small  adobe, 
within  sight  of  the  flag-staff.  Likely  Dolores  never  in- 
tended to  cling  with  any  great  tenacity  to  him  alone. 
She  probably  argued  that  it  was  convenient,  and  judging 
him  by  her  standard,  she  calculated  upon  his  roving  life, 
and  the  faithlessness  of  men  in  general,  for  final  freedom 
when  some  new  inducement  offered.  But  as  stated,  it 
was  a  part  of  Jack's  personality  to  be  faithful.  He  had 
no  idea  but  that  he  was  tied  hand  and  foot,  and,  as  was 
natural,  he  expected  a  reciprocity  of  feeling. 

In  a  few  weeks  Dolores  began  to  use  her  fine  eyes  upon 
the  uncouth  masculines  she  met,  after  the  old  fashion,  and 
Jack  began  to  grow  moody,  and  to  look  hard  and  de- 
termined out  of  his  blue  eyes ;  and  by  and  by  there  was 
a  look  about  him  that  the  veriest  death-seeker  in  all  that 
abandoned  country  would  hardly  have  cared  to  face,  and 
when  at  home,  he  certainly  kept  his  house  and  his  family 
to  himself. 

But  now  there  came  and  stayed  at  the  trader's  store,  a 
man  who  wore  barbaric  gold  and  a  linen  shirt ;  one  whose 


JACK'S  DIVORCE.  85 

fingers  were  long,  and  exceeding  nimble  in  dealing  cards, 
and  whose  eye  had  in  it  a  look  of  mingled  bravado  and 
cunning.  He  came  as  a  traveller,  but  stayed  for  weeks ; 
and  ere  long  he  and  Jack's  wife  were  exchanging  glances 
of  recognition.  Fraud  and  cunning  were  so  plainly 
written  on  this  man's  face  that  it  was  easy  to  believe  that 
to  defraud  Jack  was  what  he  stayed  and  waited  for. 

But  meantime  the  hunter  had  ideas  and  purposes  of 
his  own,  and  with  a  silence  that  was  at  least  ominous  kept 
his  own  counsel.  He  seemed  always  waiting  and  watch- 
ing for  something ;  and  the  man  who  has  many  a  time 
waited  and  watched  among  the  rocks,  and  many  a  time 
come  off  victor  through  vigilance,  does  not  wait  and 
watch  for  nothing.  What  he  waited  for  finally  came, 
and  with  it,  his  idea  of  reparation  and  justice. 

As  was  not  uncommon,  he  took  his  gun  and  canteen, 
and  went  away  to  the  mountains.  But  he  went  regularly, 
and  generally  returned  on  the  third  day.  Strangely 
enough,  he  brought  back  no  game,  but  he  looked  clay- 
begrimed  and  tired.  He  told  his  wife  when  he  would 
return  on  all  these  occasions,  and  so  far  as  could  be  known 
found  everything,  to  use  his  own  expression,  "  reg'lar.'r 
Nevertheless  it  was  a  well-known  fact  among  the  knowing 
ones,  that  the  dull  hours  were  beguiled  by  the  gambler 
at  Jack's  cabin,  in  these  frequent  absences  of  the  owner. 
More  than  a  month  passed  in  this  way,  and  Jack's  eye 
grew  harder  and  colder  every  day.  No  common  man 
could  have  passed  unquestioned.  But  there  was  that 
purpose  in  his  face,  and  that  determined  method  in  his 
going  and  coming,  that  those  who  knew  him  well  silently 
awaited  results.  Meantime,  possessing  all  the  qualities 
which  are  valued  and  admired  in  the  country  in  which 
he  lived,  and  having  been  faithful  to  all,  and  wronged 


-86 

none,  he  had  many  friends,  and  his  enemy,  if  as  yet  he 
might  be  called  such,  had  none. 

Several  times  was  the  gambler  warned  that  there  might 
€ome  a  day  of  reckoning,  but  he  considered  himself  "in 
luck,"  in  that  he  had  so  simple  an  enemy,  and  he  stayed 
on.  He  did  not  know  his  man.  He  might  have  known 
him,  had  he  reflected  that  men  that  are  cool  and  steady 
and  silent  are  always  to  be  feared  when  the  time  of  reck- 
oning comes  with  an  enemy.  More  than  once,  when 
Jack  was  absent  on  his  fruitless  expeditions  to  the  moun- 
tains, a  tall  figure  which  looked  like  his  had  been  seen 
near  his  cabin  in  the  starlight,  only  to  glide  away  and 
disappear  in  the  gloom. 

One  starry  October  night,  when  Jack  had  been  gone 
only  since  the  morning,  he  suddenly  walked  in  among 
the  story-tellers  and  poker-players  at  the  store.  All  turned 
toward  him  with  inquiry  and  surprise  in  their  faces.  He 
looked  fairly  grim,  and  there  was  a  distinct  and  palpable 
determination  on  his  face.  He  closed  the  door  carefully 
behind  him.  "  Boys,"  said  he,  "  come  along  with  me 
now,  and  I'll  answer  once  for  all  the  questions  you've 
been  lookin'  at  me  for  rnore'n  a  month ;  and  providin'  I 
don't  do  nothin'  desperit,  will  you  promise  not  to  inter- 
fere ? 

A  half-looked  and  half-spoken  answer  was  given,  and 
four  men  started  out  with  Jack.  At  the  door  he  untied 
a  donkey,  such  as  are  of  common  use  in  the  country, 
and  drove  him  before  him  toward  the  cabin.  The  hunter 
walked  resolutely  on,  and  without  ceremony  pushed  open 
the  door  and  entered.  At  the  same  moment,  with  the 
dexterity  of  long  practice,  he  whipped  out  of  its  scabbard 
the  inevitable  revolver ;  with  three  strides  he  was  across 
the  room,  and  in  a  moment  the  monte-dealer  was  looking 


87 

straight  down  the  bore,  with  an  expression  of  face  which 
indicated  that  he  regarded  it  as  being  several  inches  in 
diameter. 

"  Now,"  said  Jack,  in  the  peculiar  tone  which  admitted 
no  doubt  as  to  its  earnestness,  "  my  time  has  come.  You 
or  I  die  here  to-night,  or  you  and  this  woman  git  up  and 
go  with  me.  Mister,  you  ought  to  know  me.  If  you 
want  to  shoot,  you  kin  hev  a  chance,  but  I'm  apt  to  hit, 
and  I'll  try,  so  help  me  Christ !  " 

This  fearful  adjuration  was  uttered,  not  as  the  common 
profanity  of  an  angry  man,  but  in  a  tone  and  manner 
that  gave  it  a  fearful  meaning.  "  Git  up !  "  said  he,  as 
the  gambler,  with  paling  face,  seemed  about  to  say  some- 
thing conciliatory.  He  arose  instantly.  "Now" — for 
the  first  time  addressing  the  woman — "  git  yer  traps  to- 
gether. Quick !  "  he  thundered,  as  she  hesitated ;  "  you 
shall  hev  your  lover?s  company  from  this  night  to  all 
eternity  !  "  Though  a  scene  in  which  the  comic  was  not 
altogether  wanting,  there  was  still  something  terrible  in 
it.  The  woman,  her  olive  roses  blanched  with  vague  ter- 
ror, moved  nervously  about,  gathering  her  apparel  into 
a  bundle.  The  gambler  glanced  furtively  at  his  own 
revolver  lying  on  the  table,  and  toward  the  door.  But 
Jack's  eye  was  upon  him,  and  the  implacable  weapon  was 
in  his  hand.  Finally  he  placed  his  hand  in  his  bosom, 
and  drew  forth  a  plethoric  belt,  opened  it,  and  poured 
some  of  the  shining  pieces  in  his  hand.  Frightend  as 
she  was,  the  old  glitter  came  into  the  woman's  eyes  as 
she  saw  it.  There  was  no  situation  in  life  in  which  the 
clink  of  the  doubloons  would  not  be  music  to  her.  But 
Jack's  face  only  changed  to  a  look  of  intense  contempt, 
as  his  enemy  pitifully  offered  him  first  the  handful,  and 
then  the  belt.  He  was  again  mistaken  in  his  man. 


88 

When  the  woman  stood  with  Kor  bundle  in  her  hand, 
Jack  pointed  to  the  open  door,  and  bade  her  and  the 
gambler  move  out  together.  He  caused  the  woman  to 
mount  the  diminutive  donkey,  and  the  gambler  walked 
behind. 

Straight  up  toward  the  mountain  they  started,  the  im- 
placable husband  taking  the  gambler's  weapon  from  the 
table  as  he  left  the  room.  Away  in  the  gloom  the  strange 
procession  passed,  and  as  the  donkey  picked  his  careful 
way  among  the  stones,  plodding  safely  and  patiently  after 
the  manner  of  his  kind,  the  last  sounds  the  bystanders 
heard  were  the  wailing  and  sobbing  of  the  woman,  the 
stumbling  footsteps  of  the  gambler,  and  behind  all,  Jack's 
long  and  steady  stride.  And  these  died  away  in  the  dis- 
tance ;  and  in  the  silent  gloom  of  the  night  the  witnesses 
to  the  strange  scene  stood  at  the  door  of  the  deserted 
cabin,  and  looked  in  each  other's  faces,  silent,  and  won- 
dering. 

After  four  days  Jack  returned  empty-handed.  He  was 
questioned  now,  for  human  curiosity  cannot  be  restrained 
forever.  A  grim  humor  was  in  his  face,  as  he  said, 
"  I've  purvided  fur  'em.  They've  meat  enough  fur  three 
weeks."  Adding,  "  Any  uv  you  as  was  fond  of  Mmble- 
fingers,  air  informed  that  he  was  well  when  I  kim  away, 
on'y  ruther  lonesome.  But  you  won't  see  him  ag'insocw. 
He  aint  mountain  man  enough  to  find  his  way  back  here, 
and  I  reckon  he'll  hev  to  fight  now." 

Jack  thereupon  cleaned  his  pistols,  got  together  such 
things  as  hunters  carry,  stated  he  was  going  "to  Cali- 
forny,"  and  at  sunrise  started  out  toward  the  Northwest 
on  a  pathless  journey  which,  to  this  strange  man,  was 
only  a  question  of  time  and  life;  and  he  has  not  been 
heard  of  to  this  day. 


JACK'S  DIVORCE.  89 

Months  afterward  the  Mexican  guide  of  a  scouting- 
party  led  the  men,  hungry,  bewildered  and  nearly  dead 
with  thirst,  to  where  he  said  there  was,  years  before,  a 
spring  among  the  rocks.  They  found  it,  and  near  it  a 
deserted  "  dug-out."  From  this  to  the  spring  was  a  well- 
worn  path.  When  he  saw  it,  the  eyes  of  the  professional 
"  trailer "  opened  wide,  but  as  he  approached  the  hut, 
he  threw  up  his  hands  with  an  astonished  gesture,  ex- 
claiming, "  Madre  de  Dios, — it  was  a  woman  !  " 

Upon  the  floor  still  lay  the  sodden  fragment  of  a  Span- 
ish woman's  "  rebosa,"  and  not  far  away  the  coyote- 
gnawed  remains  of  a  man's  boot.  What  had  become  of 
the  late  residents,  none  could  tell.  But  here  at  last  was 
Jack's  mystery ;  the  house  that  he  built,  and  in  which 
Dolores  and  her  last  lover  had  met  a  fate  which  will  never 
be  known. 

There  have  been  men  very  like  Othello,  outside  of 
Shakespeare.     But  Dolores  was  not  Desdemona. 
7 


A   HARVEST -DAY   WITH   THE   PUEBLOS. 


THE  Pueblos  are  only  Indians.  But  let  not  the 
reader  imagine  from  this  statement  that  he  is  again 
doomed  to  the  description  of  the  character,  life,  rights 
and  wrongs,  etc.,  etc.,  of  the  copper-colored  Ishmaelite 
who,  with  no  history  of  his  own  making,  has  entered  so 
largely  and  so  falsely  into  American  literature.  The 
Pueblo  is  included  in  the  race  only  from  a  mistake  made 
in  the  beginning  and  perpetuated  through  time.  There 
is  no  distinction  of  race  more  perceptible  than  that  which 
exists  between  him  and  the  lawless  freebooter  who  from 
time  immemorial  has  been  his  enemy. 

The  long,  low,  grass-grown  mounds  which  lie  in  the 
sequestered  valleys  and  beside  streams,  in  the  remotest 
regions  of  New  Mexico,  are  all  that  now  remain  to  trace 
the  outlines  of  those  cities  whose  very  names  are  forgot- 
ten, and  whose  last  burgher  died  three  hundred  misty 
years  ago.  Those  mementoes  of  a  history  upon  which 
mankind  can  but  speculate,  and  which  is  eternally  lost, 
are  the  walls  which  protected  the  homes  of  the  remote 
ancestors  of  the  Indian  farmers  of  the  valley  of  the  Rio 
Grande.  The  Pueblo  is  the  small  remainder  in  Northern 
America  of  the  great  people  whose  historic  king  and  god 
was  Montezuma,  who  founded  the  Mexican  capital,  who 
built  the  colossal  temples  of  Central  America,  who  had 
a  written  literature  and  a  religion  not  utterly  Pagan,  and 
who,  in  the  twelfth  century  of  the  Christian  era,  were  as 
brave,  as  prosperous  as  and  far  less  unscrupulous  than 
the  mailed  adventurers  from  across  the  sea  by  whom 


A  HARVEST-DAT  WITH  THE  PUEBLOS.  91 

they  were  conquered,  and  beneath  whose  rule  they  passed 
away  as  a  people.  You  might  not  suspect  it  as  you  see 
him  there  in  his  humble  village,  engaged  in  patient  toil 
in  this  bright  harvest-time,  but  the  Pueblo  is  the  last  of 
the  Aztecs. 

In  contradistinction  from  the  Indian,  as  we  know  the 
man  usually  meant  by  that  term,  the  Pueblo  is  purely  a 
farmer,  and  has  been  so  from  time  immemorial.  All  his 
tastes  and  inclinations  are  peaceful.  In  his  intimate 
knowledge  of  his  business,  his  laborious  patience,  his 
industrious  contentment  in  what  the  sunshine  brings  and 
the  soil  yields,  he  is  the  model  farmer  of  America,  and 
reminds  one  of  all  that  has  been  said  and  written  of  the 
patient  husbandmen  of  Egypt  and  China.  It  is  aston- 
ishing to  note  how  he  is  an  unconscious  teacher  to  those 
whose  ancestors  were  his  conquerors  and  oppressors. 
The  whole  curious  routine  of  Mexican  husbandry  is  bor- 
rowed from  the  Pueblo.  His  plough  is  made  of  two 
pieces  of  wood,  the  one  mortised  to  the  other  at  such  an 
angle  as  makes  at  once  the  coulter  and  the  beam.  Some- 
times, indeed,  it  is  only  the  crotch  of  a  tree,  found  suited 
to  the  purpose.  Fastened  to  this  are  the  loog-horned, 
gaunt,  patient  oxen,  yoked  together  by  a  straight  piece 
of  wood,  bound  with  thongs  to  the  horns.  As  one  sees 
the  brown-faced  son  of  toil  holding  his  rude  plough  by 
its  one  straight  handle,  walking  beside  the  lengthening 
mark,  which  can  scarcely  be  called  a  furrow,  through  the 
low  field  yet  wet  and  shining  from  recent  inundations, 
urging  his  beasts  with  grotesque  cries  and  a  long  rod, 
one  can  hardly  help  thinking  that  the  rude  wood-cuts 
which  illustrate  Oriental  agriculture  in  the  Biblical  com- 
mentaries have  walked  out  of  their  pages,  and  arc  here 
before  him. 


92  A  HARVEST-DAY  WITH  THE  PUEBLOS. 

And  the  Pueblo  has  modelled  the  universal  architect- 
ure of  the  country.  The  low  houses  of  sun-dried  brick, 
with  earthen  roof,  and  earthen  benches  and  beds  and 
floors,  had  an  origin  far  back  of  the  conquest,  and,  though 
somewhat  modified  by  it,  are  by  no  means  the  result  of 
Spanish  ideas  of  taste.  But  the  Pueblo,  a  farmer  by 
nature,  had  from  time  immemorial  been  surrounded  by 
his  enemy,  the  Apache.  Therefore,  the  cluster  of  houses 
which  formed  the  common  village  was  each  one  a  castle. 
The  Pueblo  made  no  doors,  and  when  he  and  his  family 
retired  for  the  night,  they  climbed  a  ladder  to  the  roof 
and  drew  the  stairway  after  them. 

A  few  villages  are  still  the  nuclei  of  a  farming  com- 
munity, and  the  few  inhabitants  still,  in  the  majority  of 
instances,  enter  their  houses  through  the  roof.  The 
orchards  of  peach  and  apricot,  and  the  rich  clusters  of 
grapes,  as  well  as  the  low-lying  fields,  are  with  immense 
pains,  surrounded  with  an  almost  inaccessible  wall.  The 
Pueblo  shuts  in  his  life  from  the  world  and  delights  in 
isolation.  His  curious  house  and  closely-fenced  garden 
are  not  so  from  mere  motives  of  fear.  In  common  with 
all  the  aborigines  of  the  continent,  he  seems  bent  upon 
isolation  among  the  thousand  changes  which  encroach 
upon  him,  and  humbly  passing  away  to  join  his  fathers, 
without  a  memento,  a  monument  or  a  word  of  history, 
save  the  meagre  annals  of  his  decline  and  death,  told 
only  by  his  conquerors.  For  three  hundred  years  it  has 
been  so,  and  the  picture  presented  seems  an  almost  im- 
possible one  to  the  restless  English  mind.  For  centuries 
beyond  which  the  poor  Pueblo  does  not  remember,  with 
decreasing  numbers,  with  new  surroundings,  with  the 
predatory  Apache  and  the  covetous  Spaniard,  and  lat- 
terly the  Yankee  stranger,  ever  peering  over  his  garden 


A  HARVEST-DAY  WITH  THE  PUEBLOS.  93 

wall,  he  has  still  toiled  on,  clinging  to  ancient  habits^ 
intensely  occupied  with  the  datails  of  the  humblest  of  all 
lives,  and  most  of  all,  content.  NOT  with  all  this  would 
it  be  strange,  if,  as  they  tell,  the  light  required  by  his 
ancient  faith  is  still  kept  burning  upon  his  hearth,  and 
in  his  heart  he  still  cherishes  the  faith  that  in  the  light  of 
some  radiant  morning,  the  immortal  Montezuma,  high 
priest  of  the  Sun,  and  king  of  the  faithful,  will  come 
again  from  the  east,  bringing  deliverence  with  him. 

But  it  was  the  recollection  of  a  harvest-day  among  the 
Pueblos  that  suggested  all  this.  Far  down  the  sandy 
valley  as  one  approaches,  stand  the  long  lines  of  yellow 
walls,  and  far  to  the  right  glitter  in  the  noon  sunshine 
the  slimy  pools  and  yellow  current  of  the  rnusquito-haunted 
river.  The  settlement  with  the  village  for  its  centre? 
seems  a  large  one.  On  every  hand  are  the  evidences  of 
unwonted  activity.  The  cumbrous  carts,  with  framework 
of  osier,  howl  dismally  upon  oilless  axles,  as  they  pass 
you  on  the  roadside,  to  return  freighted  with  yellow 
bundles.  Here  are  four  women,  the  oldest  old  indeed, 
and  the  youngest  almost  a  child,  who  trudge  along  in  the 
sand,  each  one's  back  loaded  with  fresh  fruit.  Did  you 
ask  for  peaches  ?  The  eldest  deliberately  unloads  herself 
by  the  roadside,  opens  her  pack,  selects  a  double-handful 
of  the  largest  and  ripest,  and  presents  them  with  a  smile 
upon  her  wrinkled  old  face.  She  will  take  no  money? 
and  trudges  on,  leaving  you  to  look  after  and  reflect  that 
courtesy  is  not  entirely  confined  to  Christions  with  white 
faces.  Perhaps  the  small  incident  is  characteristic,  for 
with  just  such  kindness  did  this  poor  woman's  ancestors 
welcome  the  strangers  from  across  the  sea,  many  centu- 
ries ago. 

In  the  fields  on  either  hand  the  reapers  wade  slowly 


94  A   HARVEST-DAY   WITH   THE    PUEBLOS. 

along,  patiently  decapitating  each  yellow  stalk;  and 
some  distance  ahead,  a  cloud  of  dust,  and  straw  tossed 
high  in  air,  and  curious  noises,  proclaim  the  active  opera- 
tion of  a  primitive  threshing-machine.  Around  a  circular 
space  some  twenty  feet  in  diameter,  tall  poles  are  set  in 
the  ground,  and  between  these,  from  one  to  the  other,  are 
stretched  strips  of  raw-hide.  Within,  the  ground  is  bare 
and  hard,  and  the  newly-cut  wheat,  piled  there,  is  being 
trodden  out  by  some  twenty  unbridled  donkeys.  The 
small  urchins  kick  and  halloo  in  the  straw  outside  the  en- 
closure, like  urchins  in  a  straw-pile  anywhere  in  the 
world,  and  two  women  and  a  man  in  the  centre  of  the 
ring,  so  work  upon  the  feelings  of  the  asses  with  kicks 
and  shouts,  and  sundry  long  poles,  that  they  go  fast  and 
furious  as  Tarn  O'Shanter's  witches'  dance.  To  a  man 
unaccustomed  to  close  intimacy  with  the  kind,  there  is 
ever  something  indescribably  ludicrous  in  the  long  ears 
and  solemn  countenance  of  the  genius  asinus.  Stir  in- 
tense dignity  and  solemnity  into  friskiness,  and  the  scene 
becomes  absolutely  laughable.  As  you  watch  these  who 
tread  out  the  corn  on  the  ancient  threshing-floor,  you 
find  yourself  looking  back  as  far  as  they  are  visible,  intent 
upon  seeing  how  with  long  ears  laid  backward,  and  flying 
heels,  they  revenge  upon  upon  each  other  the  thwacks 
of  their  masters. 

Somehow,  as  you  approach  the  village  you  gather  the 
impression  that  all  the  women  you  meet  are  very  large, 
and  all  the  men  proportionately  lean  and  small.  For 
aught  I  know  it  is  a  fallacy,  but  the  average  Pueblo 
woman  is  a  creature  whose  brown  comeliness  and  statu- 
esque dignity  might  well  challenge  the  envy  of  some 
of  the  queens  of  civilization.  And  you  begin  to  discover 
that  fruit  is  a  specialty  of  these  people.  Laughing  black 


A   HARVEST-DAT  WITH  THE   PUEBLOS.  95 

I 

eyes,  whose  owners'  heads  are  just  visible  above  the  wall 
by  the  roadside,  stand  all  a-row,  and  before  each  there  is 
a  huge  melon  and  fruit-basket.  This  is  the  temporary 
market,  instituted  without  any  issue  of  bonds  or  previous 
arrangement,  upon  the  arrival  of  every  government  train. 
I  would  there  were  some  lone  spot  upon  the  habitable 
globe,  where  the  tricks  of  traffic  were  unknown.  Here, 
the  fruit  trade  is  rendered  considerably  more  lively  by 
the  merry  eyes,  white  teeth  and  brown  and  sturdy  shoul- 
ders of  a  battalion  of  laughing  market-women.  Surely, 
the  long  train  of  wrongs  which  have  pressed  to  the  verge 
of  extinction  a  hospitable  and  gallant  race,  have  by  these 
creatures  been  but  seldom  heard  or  poorly  remembered. 

The  village  has  the  appearance  of  being  composed  of 
blank  walls.  Only  the  square  tops  of  the  houses,  and 
none  of  the  domestic  operations,  can  be  seen.  But  the 
loaded  boughs  of  trees  droop  over  the  walls,  and  here 
and  there  are  glimpses  of  trailing  vines  and  pleasant  vistas. 
But  it  is  in  the  midst  of  a  dreary  land,  and  the  stretch 
of  yellow  grain-land  between  you  and  the  cottonwoods 
of  the  bank,  being  rapidly  divested  of  the  burden  of  the 
summer,  the  suggestion  of  rest,  quiet,  contentment  and 
plenty  behind  the  drab  walls,  and  the  holiday  faces 
around  you,  contrast  pleasantly  with  the  bold  mountains 
which  rise  on  either  hand.  In  any  more  favored  country, 
the  simple  pastoral  scene  which  rests  long  with  you  in 
the  hundreds  of  monotonous  miles  yet  to  come,  might 
scarcely  be  remembered  at  all.  From  villages  such  as 
this,  fenced  about  with  walls  upon  one  side  of  which  grows 
the  cactus  by  the  straggling  edge  of  the  white  highway 
winding  away  into  distance,  and  upon  'the  other  verdure, 
and  plenty,  and  content,  the  very  name  of  this  curious 
people  is  taken.  "  Pueblo"  means  only  a  town.  The 


96  A  HARVEST-DAY   WITH   THE   PUEBLOS. 

ofd  name  by  which  they  call  themselves,  the  name  which 
expresses  lineage  and  a  country,  I  know  not,  and  there 
are  few  who  care. 

Yet  a  little  further,  and  there  is  another  Oriental 
threshing-floor,  upon  which  the  scene  is  different  from 
the  last.  The  children  and  the  revengeful  donkeys  have 
vanished  together,  and  the  hands  and  minds  of  the  two 
stoical  persons  there  are  occupied  in  an  operation  so 
striking  and  important  in  the  operations  of  simple  life, 
that  it  was  more  frequently  used  as  a  simile  than  any 
other  to  teach  the  sons  of  the  patriarchs  the  lessons  which 
all  men  ought  to  know.  It  is  the  winnowing  of  the 
wheat.  One  of  the  persons  is  an  old  man,  so  withered  of 
shank  and  so  lean  of  face  that  he  would  seem  to  have 
been  subjected  to  a  process  of  drying  for  the  sake  of 
preservation.  He  stands  by  the  rude  fence,  and  anon 
with  a  small  broom  sweeps  up  each  scattered  grain  as  it 
falls  beyond  the  heap.  The  other  is  a  woman,  and  directly 
his  opposite  in  all  things.  I  cannot  tell  if  it  is  always  so, 
or  if  the  picture  I  remember  was  only  made  for  me,  but  I 
lingered  and  studied  it.  Surely,  a  woman  winnowing 
wheat  by  the  wayside  is  nothing.  There  could  be  no 
beauty  or  poetry  there,  and  such  things  are  the  commonest 
incidents  of  common  life.  Yes,  and  we  might  see  more 
in  them  if  we  would  only  look. 

She  was  tall,  and  had  a  stolid  and  determined,  but  a 
most  comely  face.  Her  head  was  bound  with  a  folded 
shawl,  but  her  long  hair  escaped  unconfined,  and  lay 
about  her  shoulders.  Her  outer  garment  was  not  a  gown, 
but  the  dress  of  her  race,  so  universally  worn  that  it  is  a 
kind  of  uniform,  being  a  large  blanket  of  black  wool, 
bound  about  the  waist  with  a  red  sash.  From  the  knee 
her  limbs  were  bare,  as  were  her  arms  and  shoulders. 


A   HARVEST-DAT  WITH   THE   PUEBLOS.  97 

She  stood  with  her  left  foot  slightly  advanced,  and  her 
great  shapely  arms  held  high  above  her  head  the  broad 
saucer-shaped  basket,  over  the  edge  of  which  poured  the 
slow  stream  of  mingled  chaff  and  wheat.  Considered 
merely  as  a  bronze  statue  endowed  with  life,  and  without 
any  reference  to  other  endowments  or  qualities,  this 
stalwart  beauty  who  was  utterly  unconscious  of  herself, 
was  the  most  perfect  specimen  of  grace  conceivable. 
When  the  padded  queen  of  the  ballet  stands  in  the 
tableau,  in  an  attitude  meant  to  be  the  embodiment  of 
gracefulness,  but  which  is  but  a  mincing  and  studied 
artificiality,  then  I  know  how  very  far  any  school  of  art 
is  from  what  untaught  nature  attains,  and  think  of  the 
Pueblo  squaw  who  winnowed  wheat  by  the  roadside  in 
the  July  afternoon. 

There  was  still  another  personage  there,  who  at  first 
escaped  notice.  His  presence  was  not  at  all  essential  to 
the  work  in  hand,  but  it  would  be  a  mistake  to  under- 
estimate his  personal  importance.  In  the  slant  shadow 
of  the  straw-pile  lay  a  big  boy-baby,  in  the  utter  naked- 
ness of  nature.  He  tossed  his  brown  round  legs  high  in 
the  air,  in  the  lissome  gymnastics  of  infancy,  and  while 
he  gathered  mysterious  sustenance  from  the  sucking  of 
his  left  fist,  with  the  other  he  clutched  awkwardly  at  flies, 
straws,  and  the  imaginary  things  which  float  in  the  air 
before  the  eyes  of  infancy. 

It  is  a  question  whether  the  much-discussed  question 
of  "  woman's  rights"  really  had  its  origin  in  the  minds  of 
educated  and  progressive  people.  In  all  the  aboriginal 
tribes  of  America,  women  have  had  their  "  rights,"  time 
whereof  the  memory  of  man  runneth  not  to  the  contrary, 
and  the  truth  is  that  these  rights  entail  upon  the  sex  as 
well  in  civilization  as  in  savagery,  that  concomitant  of 


98  A   HARVEST-DAT   WITH   THE   PUEBLOS. 

equal  drudgery  which  the  Stantons  and  Logans  would  be 
very  unwilling  to  assume.  To  all  the  privileges  and 
labors  of  masculinity  at  least,  the  conditions  of  civiliza- 
tion are  an  eternal  bar.  Once,  a  robust  Pueblo  woman 
was  selling  pinons  on  the  corner  of  the  plaza  at  Albu- 
querque, and  a  sleek-looking  infant  lay  on  a  blanket 
beside  her.  I  got  my  chaperone  to  ask  her  how  old  the 
youngster  was.  She  complacently  answered,  "  day  before 
yesterday,"  and  pointed  with  her  finger  to  that  part  of 
the  sky  where  the  moon  was  at  that  inconvenient  hour  in 
the  early  morning  in  which,  I  am  credibly  informed, 
babies  everywhere  are  apt  to  come  into  the  world.  She 
was  proud  of  the  urchin,  too,  as  all  women  are,  and  slip- 
ping her  finger  through  his  waistband  held  him  dangling 
there  like  a  human  spider  for  our  closer  inspection. 
Such  as  these  are  alone  physically  competent  to  maintain 
rights. 

So  many  strange  stories  are  told  and  believed  of  the 
Pueblos — their  religion,  social  customs  and  domestic  life 
— that  it  is  impossible  to  sift  truth  from  falsehood.  But 
they  are  the  only  one  of  the  original  races  who  have 
always  been  friendly  to  the  white  men.  When  General 
Kearney  took  possession  of  the  Territory  in  1850,  in  the 
name  of  the  United  States,  the  release  from  the  peonage 
of  many  years  so  affected  the  hearts  of  these  simple  people 
that  for  a  long  time  they  clung  to  the  belief  that  the 
commandant  was  the  long-looked-for"  man  from  the  east," 
come  for  their  deliverance.  Repeated  enforcements  of 
this  policy,  and  the  final  eradication  of  the  evil ;  protection 
from  Apaches,  and  general  and  reciprocal  good  treat- 
ment, have  conspired  to  place  this  people  in  such  rela- 
tions with  the  great  power  destined  before  many  years  to 
absorb  Actually,  as  it  now  does  in  theory,  the  whole  cen- 


A    HARVEST-DAY   WITH    THE    PUEBLOS.  99> 

tral  continent,  as  none  others  of  the  aborigines  occupy. 

It  will  not  do  to  imagine  that  because  the  Pueblos  are 
purely  agricultural,  they  are  incapable  of  defence.  On 
the  contrary,  their  whole  history  has.  been  one  of  turmoil 
and  strife.  The  Mexicans  oppressed,  and  the  Comanches 
and  Apaches  murdered:  and  these  conflicts  have  been  the 
direct  cause  of  that  air  of  ancient  ruin  and  dead  history 
which  New  Mexico'  wears.  It  is  not  the  ancient  and 
crumbling  church,  and  the  foot-worn  and  dilapidated  vil- 
lage street,  that  are  the  oldest  things  in  Mexico.  Far 
back  of  the  conquest  existed  the  semi-civilization  seen  in 
the  Pueblo  village  to-day.  The  cities  whose  walls  are 
nearly  imperceptible  now,  perhaps  had  bustling  thorough- 
fares and  a  crowded  population  when  the  mound-builders 
of  the  Mississippi  valley  were  at  their  strange  work. 

But  these  are  questions  for  the  savans.  It  is  with  the 
present,  and  with  such  things  as  are  apparent  in  daily 
life,  that  this  chapter  has  to  do.  "We  have  said  that  through 
all  these  centuries  of  conflict  and  change,  it  was  curious 
to  note  that  manners  and  dress  had  remained  so  nearly 
unchanged.  But  that  remark  needs  this  further  explana- 
tion, that  it  is  of  course  impossible  that  contact  with 
others  should  have  absolutely  no  effect,  and  here  is 
an  instance.  It  is  not  missionary  effort, — even  the  invin- 
cible phalanx  of  Jesuitism, — not  Bibles,  tracts  or  personal 
influence,  which  comes  nearest  the  heart  of  the  Pagan. 
It  is  cotton, — calico.  The  Indian  of  every  tribe  and  lati- 
tude has  obtained  for  himself  a  new  character  as  the 
autocrat  of  the  speckled  shirt :  and  these  people,  with 
even  a  stronger  individuality  than  his,  are  long  since 
clothed  upon  with  the  ne«v  idea.  Of  all  the  girls,  women, 
old  men  and  children  in  sight,  there  is  not  one  who  does 
not  wear  it  as  the  material  of  some  curiously-cut  gar- 


100  A   HARVEST-DAY   WITH   THE   PUEBLOS. 

ment.  The  old  man  who  stands  watching  the  winnowing, 
with  the  somewhat  imbecile  attempt  at  helping,  has  on 
only  three  separate  articles  of  apparel,  and  two  of  them 
are  cotton.  Item,  a  pair  of  drawers,  cut  straight,  wide 
and  cool.  Item,  a  shirt,  made  very  much  as  that  con- 
venient article  is  throughout  the  world ;  and  lastly,  moc- 
casons,  whose  broad  soles  retain  the  hair  of  the  beast 
from  whose  skin  they  were  made,  and  which  turn  over 
the  toe  in  front.  The  statuesque  woman  wears  beneath 
the  black  woollen  uniform  a  snow-white  garment,  which 
conforms  very  nearly  to  the  not  unfamiliar  pattern  which, 
when  worn  alone,  has  the  apparent  merit  of  coolness, 
without  any  corresponding  virtue  as  a  covering.  The 
girls  who  stand  a-row  behind  the  wall  are  all  clad  in  the 
material  whose  familiar  print  takes  one  back  at  a  bound 
to  the  square  stone  buildings  which  are  the  wealth  and 
pride  of  the  little  Commonwealth  of  Rhode  Island.  But 
not  as  dresses  are  they  worn,  and  it  is  only  the  material 
that  is  fashionable  here,  not  the  close-fitting,  limb-con- 
fining devices  with  which  the  dames  of  a  higher  civiliza- 
tion torture  themselves. 

Here  the  idea  of  communism  has  been  practically  car- 
ried out  for  all  these  years.  The  village  with  its  walls 
and  gardens  and  curious  houses  has  only  a  common  pur- 
pose in  its  occupancy, — that  of  protection  and  society. 
There  is  no  industry,  except  that  connected  with  agri- 
culture as  the  universal  pursuit.  There  are  no  stores 
and  no  shops,  and  no  sound  of  hammer  or  file.  Every 
house  was  contrived  for  but  two  purposes, — residence 
and  defence.  There  are  not  even  streets,  and  only  nar- 
row paths  wind  among  onion-beds  and  currant-bushes 
from  one  residence  to  the  other.  Each  family  is  self- 
productive  of  every  needed  article  of  domestic  economy, 


A   HARVEST-DAY   WITH   THE   PUEBLOS.  101 

even  to  the  fire-baked  pottery  from  which  they  eat  and 
drink.  The  black  woollen  garment  was  dyed  after 
nature's  recipe  upon  the  back  of  the  sheep,  and  the  moc- 
casons  were  contrived  by  the  wearer.  The  clumsy  cart, 
upon  which  the  Mexican  has  been  unable  to  improve,  i& 
cut  and  pinned  and  tied  together  by^&e  uhaided  skill  of 
the  man  who  expects  to  use  it.  The  ov»lj  artic/6  of;  any; 
constant  use  or  importance,  not  actually  made,  is  the 
cotton  cloth  heretofore  mentioned. 

Strangely  enough,  in  all  these  things  there  is  no  diver- 
sity of  style.  Like  birds'  nests,  as  they  are  made  now 
so  they  have  been  made  from  time  immemorial.  The 
porous  earthern  water-jug  which  hangs  by  cords  from  the 
rafters  is  of  precisely  the  same  material  and  shape  in 
every  house.  The  old  idea  of  the  biblical  commentaries 
comes  back  again,  when  two  women  sit  grinding  at  the 
mill,  the  loaf  is  baked  upon  the  hearth,  and  the  girls 
return  from  the  spring,  each  with  the  tall  water-jar  upon 
her  head.  These  people  only  need  to  live  in  dingy  tents, 
surrounded  by  their  goats  and  asses,  and  to  be  a  little 
less  heathenish  in  faith,  to  reproduce  within  the  bounds 
of  an  overgrown  republic,  the  days  when  Jacob  worked 
for  Laban,  and  was  cheated  at  last,  and  the  father  of  the 
patriarchs  sat  at  his  tent-door  and  watched  the  countless 
flocks  which  grazed  in  the  future  inheritance  of  his 
descendants. 

And  as  the  Pueblos  produce  all  they  need,  so  they  are 
learned  in  all  that  it  is  needful  for  them  to  know.  Long 
before  the  little  monkish  knowledge  they  may  have 
acquired  came  to  them  from  across  the  sea,  they  knew 
the  times  and  seasons,  and  had  a  calendar  in  which  the 
days  of  the  year  were  three  hundred  and  sixty-five.  They 
practised  then,  as  now,  their  patient  agriculture  with  a^ 


102  A  HARVEST-DAY  WITH   THE   PUEBLOS. 

skill  and  success,  some  part  of  which  would  be  a  boon  to 
farmers  who  subscribe  for  agricultural  journals,  and  per- 
chance have  read  Mr.  Greeley's  book.  They  knew  how 
to  take  the  metals  from  their  native  beds,  and  mould 
t them  into  forms  for  ornament  and  use.  Their  brethren 
'Ot'.the  43outh  •  built  colossal  piles  of  hewn  stone.  The 
i.  fo&qt&m?  tkey  *n&de  in  thirsty  lands  are  playing  yet,  and 
tli6 c  trees  they  planted  still  cast  their  shade  over  the 
swarthy  crowds  which  throng  the  streets  of  the  Mexican 
Capital. 

They  have,  indeed,  through  all  these  centuries  gone 
backward  and  not  forward.  But  the  truth  which  is  even 
now  apparent,  that  for  not  one  of  all  the  aboriginal  tribes 
of  America  is  there  any  hope,  will  probably  not  be 
.accepted  as  such  until,  within  a  few  years,  the  end  will 
have  come.  There  is  an  isolation  in  the  midst  of  sur- 
rounding life  and  activity  which  accepts  no  compromise 
with  death.  Ever  the  patient  victim  of  change,  and 
never  the  aggressor ;  with  the  material  for  a  hundred 
histories,  God  only  knows  how  heroic  or  pathetic,  gone 
in  the  past ;  when  the  poor  Pueblo  shall  finally  leave  his 
seed  to  be  sown  with  a  patent  drill,  and  the  harvest  to  be 
reapt  by  a  clattering  machine,  he  will  merit  at  least  the 
remembrance  that  his  hands  were  never  red  with  Saxon 
blood,  and  his  hearth  was  abandoned  without  reprisal. 

But  before  he  goes,  his  eyes  will  see  the  white  man's 
magic,  in  the  engine  rushing  before  its  train  down  the 
valley  of  the  Rio  Grande,  and  the  iron  rail  will  usurp  the 
place  of  the  donkey-path  in  front  of  his  door.  And  soon 
the  denizens  of  whitewashed  towns  will  have  scared  the 
husbandman  from  his  plow,  and  the  fruit-seller  from  the 
wall,  and  the  noisy,  civilized  crowd  will  forget,  if  they 
ever  knew,  that  in  these  regions  there  ever  was  so  peace- 
ful and  pleasant  a  thing  as  a  harvest-day  with  the  Pueblos. 


BROWN'S    REVENGE. 

OJO  Caliente  was  of  itself  a  prominent  feature  in  a 
landscape  bare  and  brown,  and  stretching  in  rocky 
monotony  and  silence  for  miles  away  on  every  hand. 
Even  to  people  so  learned  that  they  claim  in  geology  a 
sufficient  explanation  for  all  the  strange  things  this  world 
did  when  she  was  very  young  and  soft,  the  decided  freaks 
of  nature  are  always  invested  with  the  terror  of  mystery 
and  the  charm  of  awe.  As  for  this  particular  spot,  many 
thoughtful  eyes  had  looked  upon  it ;  many  wise  heads  had 
speculated  at  its  brink.  A  conical  mound,  very  symetri- 
cal  in  shape  and  some  thirty  feet  in  height,  rose  from  the 
surrounding  plain.  In  its  top  was  a  circular  basin  about 
fifteen  feet  in  diameter  and  of  unknown  depth,  always 
full  of  limpid,  sparkling,  bubbling  water.  There  alone 
in  the  thirsty  land,  the  delicious  element  abounded,  re- 
joiced and  ran  over.  Clear,  pure  and — cold,  of  course  ? 
No,  it  was  scalding  hot.  There  was  the  feature;  the 
mystery.  It  was  one  of  those  few  mysterious  openings 
into  our  common  mother's  fervid  heart.  Through  a 
notch  in  the  rocky  basin's  edge  the  pretty  stream  ran 
over,  as  large  as  a  man's  body ;  a  volume  which  might 
have  supplied  a  city  with  hot  baths,  and  cleansed  the 
grimy  denizens  of  Constantinople  itself.  But  it  did  not 
seethe  and  rage,  and  then  compose  itself  in  intervals  of 
fitful  and  deceptive  slumber.  Through  all  seasons  and 
times,  through  heat  and  cold  the  stream  was  as  constant 
as  a  woman's  love,  or — wickedness.  Where  the  torrent 
spread  itself  out  and  cooled  in  the  plain  below,  the  tall 
weeds  and  coarse  grass,  and  some  hardy  ferns  grew  rank 


104  BROWN'S  REVENGE. 

and  luxuriant,  with  their  roots  constantly  bathed  and 
warmed  in  a  frost-defying  bath.  And  the  terrapins  and 
wart-grown  lizards,  and  long-legged  and  mottled  toadsr 
gathered  there  and  lived  a  fortunate  life.  Amid  the 
dense  growth  and  balmy  vapors,  the  rattlesnake  forgot  to 
stiffen  his  odious  coils  in  a  half  year's  slumber,  and  lay 
gorged  and  stupid,  but  still  venomous,  all  the  season 
through.  The  rough  boulders  gathered  a  green  coat  of 
slimy  moss  as  they  lay  in  the  ooze,  and  in  winter,  when 
the  hoar  frost  or  the  light  snow  lay  on  all  the  hills  and 
plain  around,  that  green  acre  lay  in  the  slant  sun  like  a 
bit  of  verdure  strayed  from  the  tropics. 

Such  a  place,  lying  as  it  did  on  the  main  road  from  the 
low-country  to  the  mountains,  had  not  failed  to  attract 
attention  and  suggest  a  use.  And  that  use  was  one 
which  was  of  course  in  accord  with  the  ideas  and  habits 
of  the  country.  Ojo  Caliente  was  a  ranche,  and  while  to 
a  certainty  the  ranche  idea  could  not  be  left  out,  it  was 
also  the  result  of  a  new  idea  in  the  wilderness;  it  was  a 
watering  plac^.  The  waters  had  medicinal  properties, 
and  an  enterprising  son  of  Old  England  occupied  the 
slope  of  the  hill  with  a  rambling  adobe,  the  front  of 
which,  standing  next  the  travelled  road,  was  the  "  store," 
while  an  array  of  rude  chambers  straggled  up  the  slope 
toward  the  spring.  Each  was  furnished  with  a  long 
wooden  tub,  into  which  the  water  was  conducted  in  a 
trough.  Some  tall  cottonwoods  flourished  beside  the 
wall,  and  gaining  vigorous  growth  from  the  warm  stream 
which  touched  their  roots,  gave  an  oasis  charm  to  this 
one  spot  in  the  treeless  landscape. 

The  place  was  likewise  a  hotel,  and  the  smoke  of  a 
camp-fire  arose  each  night  from  the  trampled  and  dusty 
apot  beside  the  garden,  and  mules  brayed  from  the  square 


BROWN'S  REVENGB.  105 

enclosure  which  was  supposed  to  be  a  sufficient  protection 
from  the  Apaches.  Here  and  there  a  limping  rheumatic, 
or  a  sufferer  from  that  insidious  malady  which  is  the  just 
reward  for  an  offense  against  God's  great  law  of  purity, 
sat  and  chafed  his  limbs  and  talked  of  his  complaint  and 
waited  for  health.  Other  than  the  waters  there  was  no 
physician  there.  Neither  was  there  any  pretense  of 
infirmity  as  an  excuse  for  idleness  and  pleasure.  Many 
a  year  must  pass  before  fashion  would  here  make  illness 
an  excuse  for  dissipation. 

The  proprietor  of  all  this ;  the  inventor  and  maker  of 
all  save  the  scalding  spring,  was  a  man  whom  every 
denizen  of  the  country  knew,  and  none  knew  well.  He 
had  come  from  they  knew  not  where,  and  had  prepared 
all  these  things  with  a  lavish  hand  and  no  small  expen- 
diture of  means.  He  was  called  rich,  and  daily  adding 
to  his  wealth.  His  cattle  grazed  upon  the  surrounding 
hills,  and  with  rare  skill  and  vigilance,  he  kept  them  safe 
from  the  universal  enemy.  His  place  was  known  as  a 
good  place,  and  his  meals  were  "  square"  meals.  As 
neighbors  go  in  that  country  he  was  a  good  neighbor, 
and  many  a  mule  was  loaned,  many  a  broken  wheel 
mended,  and  many  a  meal  given  away,  for  men  whom  he 
had  never  seen  before.  Personally,  he  had  failed  to  take 
upon  him  the  likeness  of  the  border.  Middle-aged  and 
gray-haired,  he  dressed  in  a  civilized  garb,  and  his  oddly- 
shaven  face  had  on  it  a  look  of  settled  unhappiness.  To 
a  stranger  these  things  were  seen  and  forgotten.  "  Odd 
feller,"  they  said  as  they  passed  on,  "  wonder  whar  he 
come  from,"  and  that  was  all. 

But  those  who  knew  him  longer  studied  these  pecu- 
liarities to  better  purpose.     There  was  a  rumor  in  the 
country  that  his  name  was  not  really  Denham,  and  in 
8 


106  BROWN'S  REVENGE. 

many  a  camp-fire  talk  it  had  been  remarked  that  no  man 
had  ever  heard  him  mention  the  place  of  his  nativity,  or 
speak  of  his  family.  We  have  called  him  an  Englishman, 
but  it  was  the  unconquerable  dialect  of  his  youth  which 
betrayed  him.  If  conviction  of  crime  depended  only  upon 
proof  of  nativity,  no  man  could  hope  to  escape,  and  many 
a  man  yet  living  in  the  Missouri  River  towns,  could  tell 
if  he  would,  of  the  unfailing  test  of  1856. 

And  this  was  the  only  circumstance  they  could  abso- 
lutely claim  as  knowledge.  But  no  man  ever  questioned 
him,  because,  liking  him  well,  there  was  something  about 
him  that  forbade  it. 

He  was  proverbially  quiet  and  even  timid.  He  carried 
not  the  accustomed  arsenal  upon  his  belt,  and  was  never 
known  to  take  up  a  gun.  In  these  things  his  hirelings 
acted  for  him,  and  while  he  had  been  known  to  stand 
calmly  in  his  door  and  watch  an  Indian  fight  for  the  pos- 
session of  his  herds,  the  idea  of  assistance  in  the  business 
seemed  not  to  enter  his  mind.  So,  sometimes  they  called 
him  "the  preacher,"  and  the  baser  sort  nicknamed  him 
"  padre."  And  when  by  chance  he  heard  them,  he 
turned  and  walked  away  with  a  stricken  look  added  to 
his  habitual  sadness. 

Once,  when  a  miner  died  at  his  house,  and  was  filled 
with  that  late-coming  penitence  which  usually  comes 
lurking  in  death's  shadow  to  punish  the  last  hours  of  a 
hard  life,  Denham  stood  with  others  in  the  room.  They 
told  afterwards  how  "  the  preacher"  seemed  to  restrain 
himself  in  the  desire  to  perform  accustomed  acts.  He 
came  to  the  bedside  and  hastily  went  away  again.  Then 
he  went  out  but  presently  returned  bringing  with  him  a 
small,  worn  volume,  which  he  opened  and  essayed  to 
read.  The  poor  man's  lips  were  dry  and  his  face  grew 


BROWN'S  REVENGE.  107 

V 

pale  as  he  read,  "  I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life ;  he 
that  believeth  in  me" — and  his  voice  choked  in  the  utter- 
ance of  the  sublime  words  which  take  in  all  there  is  of 
hope,  and  he  closed  the  book  and  left  the  place.  More 
tutored  men  might  have  divined  a  truth  in  this,  but  they 
who  remembered  the  scene  only  told  it  and  wondered 
more  and  more  at  the  man  of  mystery. 

Frontiersmen  are  not  inclined  to  love  men  who  are  not 
of  their  kind.  But  in  this  case  after  four  years  of  divided 
opinion,  the  majority  of  the  scattered  residents  who  had 
aught  to  do  with  the  proprietor  of  Ojo  Caliente,  were 
ready  to  fight  for  him.  He  did  not  swear,  he  refused  to 
drink,  he  declined  the  use  of  slang.  His  language  was 
such  as  some  few  of  them  could  hardly  understand,  and 
with  a  retinue  of  female  servants  the  suspicion  of  a  single 
amour  was  out  of  the  question.  He  counselled  peace  in 
the  midst  of  strife.  He  gave  advice  to  all  who  asked  it, 
but  meddled  with  the  affairs  of  none.  Each  man  thought 
in  his  heart  that  Denham  regarded  him  as  his  best  friend. 
He  was  acute  and  far-sighted,  and  a  crowd  of  men  ever 
ready  to  act  more  from  impulse  than  reason,  made  a  dis- 
covery of  that  fact.  He  was  the  repository  of  every 
bearded  fellow's  confidence  in  a  radius  of  a  hundred 
miles,  and  he  kept  their  secrets  like  a  priest.  But  they 
could  not  divest  him  of  his  strangeness.  He  read  books, 
or,  rather,  a  book.  For  a  long  time  they  thought  it  must 
be  one  some  of  them  had  heard  of,  mayhap  seen, — the 
Bible.  But  when  they  had  slily  looked  at  the  open  page, 
they  discovered  that  other  scarcely  less  wonderful  vol- 
ume, Shakspeare.  Once  on  a  frosty  night,  when  he 
broke  in  upon  the  story-teller's  circle  around  the  fire 
with  a  mild  "  listen  a  moment,"  having  had  a  thrill  of 
that  wonderful  "  touch  of  nature"  they  clamored  for 


108  CROWN'S  REVENGE. 

more,  and  listened  until  the  moon  went  down.  And  each 
rough  eon  of  the  mountains  carried  ever  after  a  bright 
imagining  of  she  who  would  have  borne  the  logs  for 
Ferdinand,  and  fancied  he  could  sometimes  hear  Ariel 
sing  among  the  pines,  as  he  delved  for  yellow  dust. 

Men  who  lead  a  strange  life  are  generally  unconscious 
of  that  life's  peculiarities.  Had  his  friends  been  critical 
they  would  have  questioned  the  motives  of  a  man  who, 
while  so  unlike  them,  yet  chose  to  live  among  them. 
With  all  his  kindness,  he  was  still  a  man  apart.  You 
could  tell  as  he  sat  with  thoughtful  face  at  his  door  in 
the  shimmering  summer  afternoon,  that  his  heart  was 
not  in  this  country.  He  started  at  the  slightest  sound. 
He  scrutinized  strange  faces  with  a  kind  of  covert  interest, 
and  seemed  ever  ready  to  flee,  abandoning  all.  The 
long-looked-for  mail,  which  brought  letters,  evidently 
precious  things  to  even  the  coarse  and  apparently 
hardened  men  around  him,  brought  nothing  to  him.  If 
Ojo  Caliente  and  its  lonesome  landscape  was  not  his 
home,  then  where  could  it  be,  since  he  had  no  interest  in 
any  other. 

It  is  well  known  that  the  lonely  graves  of  the  border 
hide  strange  histories, — strange  and  untold.  The  bound- 
less waste  of  plain  and  mountain  is  the  great  refuge  of 
those  who  would  hide  from  themselves.  It  is  not  the 
man  doomed  to  spend  the  days  of  his  years  between 
granite  walls;  not  him  who  sees  his  last  goods  go  down 
under  the  sheriff's  hammer;  not  even  he  to  whom  law  is 
interpreted  as  the  grim  code  which  puts  a  halter  upon 
his  neck  and  his  coffin  beside  him,  who  knows  most  of 
remorse,  most  of  fear,  and  most  of  despair.  Of  all  suffer- 
ing men,  he  suffers  most  who,  burdened  with  unknown 
and  unpunished  crimes,  hides  from  the  world.  There  is 


109 

a  punishment  which  comes  at  midnight,  which  no  man 
can  avoid.  This  is  Hell.  There  is  need  of  none  more 
fiery.  You  think  faces  will  tell  the  tale.  No,  there  is 
no  such  incomparable  liar  as  the  human  face.  The  man 
who  scowls  and  frowns  at  the  fit  of  a  collar  or  the  quality 
of  a  dinner,  may  live  long  and  carry  a  gnawing  devil  in 
his  bosom,  and  give  no  sign. 

Thus,  Denham  ate  and  slept  well,  and  looked  after  his 
affairs,  and  had  only  a  melancholy  face.  But  he  was 
ever  watching.  As  he  sat  at  his  door,  and  the  evening 
shadows  crept  from  distant  mountains  toward  him,  he 
could  see  the  dim  specks  upon  the  yellow  road  which 
grew  gradually  larger  and  nearer,  and  they  were  not  out 
of  his  sight  or  thoughts  until  nearness  demonstrated  their 
character  and  showed  him  their  faces.  This  watchful- 
ness was  the  man's  visible  sign  of  his  trouble  or  crime, 
whatever  that  trouble  or  crime  was.  Not  that  his  friends 
suspected  as  much.  Watchfulness  may  be  accounted  for 
in  a  thousand  ways,  and  is  oftenest  not  regarded  at  all. 
Once  convict,  once  suspect,  and  all  signs  are  easily  read 
and  exaggerated  by  those  whose  faculty  it  is  to  hunt 
human  nature  down  ;  but  the  ordinarily  careless  eye  may 
look  for  years  and  suspect  nothing.  And  yet,  there  is 
ever  more  than  natural  oddity  in  the  man  who  walks 
with  bent  head  and  locked  hands,  and  upon  whose  ordi- 
nary occupations  creeps  constantly  in  the  absent  action, 
the  muttered  word,  the  startled  look  and  the  cat-like 
watchfulness  of  faces.  The  man  Denham  had  these  char- 
acteristics. "  I  rec'n,  he's  the  feardest  of  Injins  of  any 
man  in  these  parts,"  his  neighbors  sometimes  remarked. 
Yes,  he  was  afraid,  but  not  of  Indians.  There  was  but 
one  man  of  whom  Denham  stood  in  mortal  fear,  and  he 
knew  not  if  that  one  terrible  creature  were  living  or  dead. 


110  BROWN'S   REVENGE. 

And  in  the  long  and  tedious  order  of  events  which 
men  may  never  control  lest  they  should  interrupt  retribu- 
tion, it  came  about  that  Denham's  ghost  came  at  last  and 
sat  himself  down  like  Banquo  at  the  feast.  Even  the  far 
home  in  the  wilderness  is  no  refuge  from  fate.  With 
grim  pertinacity  men's  crimes,  ev«n  their  mistakes,  hunt 
them  out  wherever  they  may  go.  One  evening  business, 
or  a  not  uncommon  desire  to  be  alone,  took  him  over  the 
hill  and  far  down  by  the  sedgy  slough.  It  may  be  that 
his  brooding  heart  had  that  anticipation  of  evil  which  we 
imagine  our  inner  consciousness  sometimes  has.  But 
after  an  hour  he  returned  slowly  towards  the  house,  his 
hands  behind  him,  and  his  bent  and  prematurely-gray 
head  regarding  only  his  slow  footsteps.  Entering  at  the 
rear,  he  passed  slowly  through  the  low  passage,  pushing 
aside  the  canvass  which  hung  as  a  door  between  each 
compartment.  The  frost  of  the  late  autumn  of  a  pros- 
perous year  had  come,  and  upon  rude  benches  a  half- 
dozen  frontiersmen  sat  before  the  blazing  fire  in  the 
public  room,  engaged  in  the  old  business  of  story-telling. 
He  approached  the  strip  of  soiled  canvass  which  hung 
between  them  and  him,  slowly  as  was  his  wont,  and  as 
he  came,  a  voice  which  was  not  a  familiar  one,  fell  upon 
his  ear.  £To,  it  was  not  familiar,  for  the  man  was  a 
stranger,  and  yet, — what?  Only  this,  that  that  coarse 
laugh  was  like  a  knell  upon  George  Denham's  senses, 
and  his  heart  stopped  as  he  sank  upon  a  seat.  Then,  as 
he  cautiously  peered  through  upon  the  group  he  saw  the 
stranger,  lately  arrived,  full  of  talk,  and  the  only  man 
whose  coming  had  ever  escaped  those  watchful  eyes.  He 
was  not  a  creature  to  be  frightened  at,  only  a  bearded 
fellow  of  forty,  red-faced  and  brawny-handed,  as  evidently 
a  man  whose  best  years  had  been  spent  upon  the  border 


BROWN'S   REVENGE.  Ill 

as  though  the  fact  had  been  written  upon  him.  Already 
he  was  on  familiar  terms  with  the  men  around  him,  and 
had  begun  the  narration  of  his  adventures.  As  Denham 
waited  and  listened  behind  the  curtain,  for  confirmation 
of  his  fears,  he  knew  the  stranger  did  not  lie  as  he  talked. 
"  Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  I  never  war  here  before,  but 
I'm  usen  to  this  kind  o'thing.  I  kirn  to  Californy  in 
1850.  I  war  young  then,  an  I  kinder  struck  a  lead,  an' 
havin'  better  luck'n  most  of  'em,  I  made  money  mighty 
fast.  I  stayed  round  thar  fur  twelve  year, — yes,  I  recon 
it  war  that  long,  an'  all  the  time, — sartin  gentlemen, — I 
had  a  woman  back  in  Injianny  whar  I  come  frurn.  That's 
a  long  time,  you  bet,  an'  finally  I  concluded  I'd  orter  go 
back  an'  see  my  old  gal, — a  waitin'  so  long,  you  know. 
Well, — any  gent  as  has  a  chaw  o'terbacker  kin  accommo- 
date me — as  I  wus  a-sayin', — thank  ye,  boss, — I  started 
fur  to  go  back  agin,  an'  when  I  got  down  to  Saccermento, 
thinks  I,  what  'ud  I  be  doin'  fur  to  wag  about  forty 
thousan'  miles  wi'  ten  thousan'  dollars  in  gold  wi'  me, — 
'cos  that  war  jist  what  I  had,  an'  might  be  a  little  more 
fur  'spences.  Buy  a  draft,  ses  they.  Draft,  ses  I, — we 
aint  usen  to  no  sich  in  my  part  o'  the  country.  But  the 
war  wus  broke  out,  ye  know,  an'  I  see  some  mighty  purty 
bills, — they  called  'em  treas'ry  notes, — as  they  said  wuz 
as  good  as  gold.  Sez  I,  Mister,  them  '11  do,  an'  I  chucked 
my  dust  inter  ten  o'  the  biggest.  'Twar  a  mighty  small 
roll,  I  tell  ye,  fur  to  be  worth  ten  thousand,  an' I  jest 
folded  'em  into  a  slip  o'  paper  an'  chucked  'em  into  my 
jacket  pocket  an'  started.  It  wuz  earless,  I  know,  but  I 
'lowed  I  needn't  tell  of  'em  bein'  thar.  Well,  I  come 
clear  across  an'  wuz  'most  honie,  'till  I  got  on  a  railroad 
which  I  don't  'member  the  name,  somewhar  in  Missoury. 
In  the  mornin',  gentlemen,  when  I  felt  fur  it,  my  money 


312  BROWN'S  REVENGE. 

wuz  gone  !  It's  been  long  ago  now,  an'  all  past  an'  gone, 
but  I  tell  you,  it  mighty  nigh  got  me.  I  wus  a  thinkin' 
of  the  old  gal, — fact  a  dreamin'  of  her, — an'  to  wake  up 
in  the  mornin'  a  sittin'  in  a  seat  a  rattlin'  to'rds  home 
after  twelve  years'  hard  work,  an'  a  poor  man.  Gentle- 
men, I  aint  much  on  the  weakness,  but  I  could  a'  cried. 
I  tackled  the  conductor ;  ses  he,  thar  aint  no  man  got  oft' 
this  'ere  car  sence  you  got  on  at  one  o'clock.  Then  he 
asked  'em,  ses  he,  will  any  man  object  to  bein'  sarched, 
an'  they  sez  no.  Thar  wuz  no  crack  nor  chink  o'  that 
car  we  didn't  sarch.  Thar  wan't  no  man  we  didn't  go 
through.  Thar  wuz  no  wimmiu  on,  an'  hadn't  been,  an' 
every  last  feller  of  the  men  wuz  tickled  fur  to  hev  us  to 
give  'em  a  sarch.  Finally,  sez  the  conductor,  sez  he,  you 
haint  never  had  it.  I  jest  knocked  him  inter  a  old  hat. 
I  wuz  riled,  an'  it  wuz  a  comfort  fur  to  do  it.  An'  then 
I  jest  clim  off  that  train  an'  started  back.  I  haint  seed 
my  old  woman.  I  never  seed  her — she's  dead.  Gentle- 
men, I'm  a  busted  man, — I  don't  claim  to  be  nuthin'  else, 
kin  you  accommodate  me  pard  ? — thank  ye. 

As  the  speaker  placed  another  quid  in  his  mouth  with 
indescribable  gusto,  there  was  a  perceptible  feeling  in  the 
circle  of  listeners.  It  is  mistaken  philosophy  and  mistaken 
religion,  to  speak  of  the  l  hardness'  of  the  human  heart. 
It  is  careless  and  selfish,  but  there  is  no  tenderer  thing, 
when  touched  by  that  strain  which  defies  all  art  and  skill 
in  its  production,  and  which  is  like  the  unintended  har- 
mony we  hear  when  the  strings  of  a  harp  are  touched  by 
a  baby's  fingers  or  the  trail  of  a  passing  robe.  It  was 
not  intended,  and  a  thousand  attempts  could  not  repeat 
it.  But  it  was  music  nevertheless. 

"  But,"  said  one  who  was  younger  than  the  rest,  "why 
didn't  you  go  home; — what  did  yer  act  thataway  fur  ?" 


BROWN'S  REVENGE.  113 

Then  the  stranger  turned  his  head  slightly  to  one  side, 
and  closed  his  opposite  eye,  and  regarded  the  speaker 
for  a  brief  moment.  It  was  the  pantomime  which  means 
"  What  ails  you  ?"  or,  in  plainer  terms  "  You  are  a  fool." 

"Air  you  aware  young  feller,  that  a  man  can't  go 
home  after  twelve  year,  poor  an'  ragged  an'  ornery,  an' 
tell  'em  that  he  had  ten  thousan'  dollars  stole  from  him 
night  afore  last  ?  Do  ye  think  a  feller's  mother-in-law 
'ud  b'lieve  any  sich  thing.  Bah !  that's  too  d — d  thin." 
Then,  as  the  young  man  retired  into  the  shade  of  con- 
tempt, the  speaker  turned  again  to  the  circle  of  silent 
listeners,  and  continued.  "Ye  see,  under  sich  circum- 
stances a  feller  keeps  his  ragged  britches  on  a  purpus. 
He  thinks  he's  a-goin'  fur  to  hug  his  wife  an'  kiss  his 
babies,  an'  be  independenter  'n  thunder,  an'  play  it  low 
down  on  'em  all  fur  about  a  week,  an'  then  shell  out  the 
shiners  an'  buy  a  farm  d — d  suddint ; — a  feller  kind  o' 
wants  to  make  the  thing  as  creamy  as  possible,  ye  know. 
An'  then  to  be  busted  teetotal!  Them's  hard  lines,  gen- 
tlemen; I  say  them's  d — d  hard  lines." 

And  all  this  time  the  man  Denham  sat  unseen  behind 
the  narrow  curtain  and  watched  and  listened.  It  was 
dark  there,  and  only  one  lance  of  yellow  light  from  the 
bright  fire  lay  across  his  pale  face.  At  first  his  coun- 
tenance had  a  look  of  terror,  and  he  glanc'ed  nervously 
about  him,  and  felt  his  pocket,  and  looked  into  afar  dark 
corner,  where  lay  an  old-fashioned  portable  expressman's 
safe,  probably  purchased  at  some  quartermaster's  auction 
sale.  Then,  as  the  talk  went  on,  his  look  changed,  his 
mood  melted,  and  the  dim  shadow  of  a  great  resolve 
came  into  his  eyes.  But  nobody  can  describe  the  emo- 
tional panorama  which  a  man's  face  is  popularly  sup- 
posed to  present  under  such  circumstances,  because  if 


114  BROWN'S  REVENGE. 

these  changes  occur  at  all,  it  is  only  when  the  restraint 
of  other  eyes  is  taken  away.  "We  have  already  said,  with 
this  man  Denham  for  an  example,  that  men's  faces  are 
always  liars.  But  a  change  came  over  him  as  he  listened, 
whether  perceptible  or  not.  He  arose  silently  and  went 
on  tiptoe  to  the  safe  which  lay  in  the  corner.  He  felt  in 
his  pocket  for  a  key,  and  very  quietly  and  cautiously  took 
from  it  a  packet,  seeming  to  be  a  folded  written  docu- 
ment of  some  length.  Then  he  went  quietly  back  and 
seated  himself  until  the  stranger's  story  was  ended. 

They  were  "  hard  lines"  he  had  said,  and  almost  as  he 
uttered  the  words,  Denham  came  among  the  group.  He 
did  not  sit  down,  but  where  the  light  fell  full  upon  his 
face  stood  regarding  the  stranger.  "  Do  you  know  me?" 
he  asked  calmly. 

"Wy,— well,  no,— not  adzactly.  How'd  do?"  And 
the  good  fellow  rose  and  proffered  his  hand  with  a  look 
of  inquiry  and  anticipation. 

Denham  feigned  not  to  see  the  hand  which  it  seemed 
he  dare  not  take,  and  the  stranger  seated  himself  again. 
He  stood  looking  at  the  fire  in  forced  calmness,  but  his 
eyes  were  blood-shot  and  his  voice  hoarse.  Presently,  as 
by  a  mighty  effort,  he  said  : 

"  Friends,  I  have  something  to  say  to  this  man  William 
Brown," — tH e  stranger  started — "  and  to  you  all.  Please, 
listen  to  me,  and  remember  that  I  now  appoint  you  all 
to  be  my  judges  and  my  jury.  Some  of  you  tried  and 
hung  the  horse-thief  at  Pinos  Altos,  and  two  of  you  cap- 
tured and  brought  back  the  man  who  killed  Tom  Hicks, 
and  he  was  tried  and  shot.  I  am  ready  to  stand  by  your 
verdict.  God  knows  I  want  no  better  men." 

The  bronzed  and  bearded  group  upon  whom  the  lire- 
light  glanced  as  this  man  seemed  to  place  his  life  in 


BROWN'S  REVENGE.  115> 

their  hands,  sat  silent.  It  may  not  have  seemed  as 
strange  to  them  as  it  does  to  the  reader.  They  were  the 
law-makers,  as  well  as  the  executors,  of  the  country  in 
which  they  lived.  !$o  cringing  prayers,  no  promises,  no 
tears  availed  with  them.  Yet,  the  American  history, 
which  is  yet  to  be  written,  will  not  deny  justice  to  the- 
grim  law-makers  of  the  border.  Every  man's  life  was 
in  his  brother's  hands.  They  dealt  justly,  not  as  under 
the  abstract  obligations  of  a  juror's  oath,  but  as  each  marr 
himself  hoped  for  justice. 

Perhaps  they  did  not  understand  the  speaker's  words 
precisely,  but  they  sat  unmoved  and  waited.  It  was  not 
a  mercurial  court ;  they  would  see  it  all  by  and  by.  The 
speaker  continued.  "William  Brown,  I  heard  your 
story,  and  I  know  and  declare  to  these  men  that  it  is 
true.  See  here,"  and  he -held  up  in  his  hand  a  small 
square  volume;  "  this  is  a  Bible.  I  believe  this  book  to 
be  God's  book,  and  hereon  I  solemnly  swear  that  lam 
the  man  that  robbed  you  /" 

Another  tremor  went  round  the  circle,  but  no  man 
spoke.  Only  the  stranger  rose  up.  Some  who  read  this 
may  imagine  the  ease  with  which  a  man  handles  a  long- 
used  tool.  Some  may  know  how  the  soldier  tips  hi& 
musket,  or  the  flash-like  movement  in  which  the  Lascar 
slips  his  crooked  knife  from  its  greasy  scabbard  into  the ' 
bowels  of  his  antagonist.  Such  as  this,  is  the  intimacy 
of  the  borderer  with  his  terrible  weapon.  Ere  he  could 
speak  again,  or  scarcely  think,  the  slender  muzzle  of 
Brown's  pistol  was  in  the  criminal's  very  face. 

But  there  were  other  quick  eyes  and  hands  there,  and 
as  the  avenger  hesitated  a  moment  to  speak,  old  Joe 
Maxwell's  hand  was  upon  his  arm.  "  Sit  down,  stranger,'' 
he  said,  "  we're  a  tryin'  this,  an'  don't  want  no  interferinY* 


116  BROWN'S  REVENGE. 

and  he  looked  out  of  his  gray  eye  a  glance  which  meant 
much  more  than  he  said. 

In  the  sense  of  a  lofty  purpose,  Denham  grew  coura- 
geous, and  in  the  silence  that  ensued  he  took  from  his 
pocket  the  packet  and  unfolded  it,  and  handed  it  to  old 
Maxwell.  "  Can  you  read  it  ?"  said  he.  The  old  fron- 
tiersman looked  doubtfully  at  it,  handed  it  back  and 
remarked,  "read  it  yourself,  an'  I  rec'n  we'll  git  the 
sense  on  it." 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Denham,  "  this  is  my  will  and  my 
story  together.  I  wrote  it  a  year  ago,  for  a  man  may 
die,  and  though  I  never  thought  of  showing  it  in  my 
lifetime,  I  am  glad  of  the  opportunity,  because  I  can 
remedy  my  crime,  die  easier,  and  be  thought  better  of 
after  I  am  dead.  As  between  this  man  and  me,  I  have 
suffered  most,  and  justly.  I  could  tell  my  story,  but  thia 
explains  it  all  and  in  less  time." 

His  auditors  probably  did  not  know  it,  but  as  the 
•criminal  stood  close  by  the  guttering  candle,  with  the 
light  of  duty  in  his  face,  he  looked  a  clergyman  at  a 
funeral.  His  manner,  forgetting  himself,  was  that  of  a 
man  once  accustomed  to  such  duties.  He  opened  the 
paper,  and  solemnly  read  what  is  here  set  down  : 

"  IN  THE  NAME  OF  GOD,  AMEN.  I,  James  Dodd,  clergy- 
man of  the  Church  of  England,  of  Witham,  in  the  County 
of  Essex,  and  now  of  the  United  States  of  America,  do 
herein  write  my  last  WILL  and  TESTAMENT,  and  do  hereby 
enjoin  that  it  shall  be  executed,  though  without  witnesses 
and  wanting  legal  form,  for  I  would  that  I  might  die 
without  shame,  and  that  none  should  read  until  I  am 
dead." 

"  I  give  unto  one  William  Brown,  once  of  the  State  of 
Indiana,  and  now  of  parts  unknown,  and  unto  his  heirs 


117 

and  assigns,  my  property  of  Ojo  Caliente,  and  all  lands^ 
houses,  appurtenances  and  fixtures  thereunto  belonging. 
And  I  give  unto  him  and  them  my  strong  box,  and  all 
therein,  namely,  twenty-three  thousand  dollars  in  coin 
and  dust.  I  give  unto  him  and  them  all  my  cattle  and 
goods,  and  all  property  of  all  kinds,  to  have,  hold  and  use 
the  same  forever." 

"And  I  hereby  enjoin  upon  all  to  whom  this  shall 
come  when  I  am  dead,  that  they  by  no  means  interfere 
with  the  injunctions  of  this  my  Testament,  for  I  declare 
that  what  I  give  to  the  said  William  Brown  and  his 
heirs,  is  already  theirs,  of  which  truth  to  the  doubting 
I  commend  the  following,  my  confession :" 

"  I  am  sixty-two  years  of  age.  I  came  to  America  in 
the  year  1848,  and  was  born  in  the  County  of  Essex,  in 
England.  I  was  a  clergyman,  and  all  my  life  until  the 
time  whereof  I  speak,  I  have  feared  God,  and  praying 
always,  walked  in  His  law.  If,  by  mercy,  they  yet  livey 
I  have  a  wife  and  two  daughters,  whereof  the  eldest  must 
now  be  twenty  years  old.  More  of  them  I  will  not  tell, 
for  since  the  time  whereof  I  shall  speak,  they  have  not 
seen  my  face,  and  I  would  that  they  and  I  should  suffer 
all  manner  of  apprehension  and  sorrow,  and  that  they 
should  think  me  unfortunately  but  honorably  dead,  than 
know  of  my  sin  and  crime." 

"  I  was  poor,  and  though  I  urge  not  this  as  an  excuse,. 
God  knows  the  longing  of  a  man  for  his  family's  sake.  I 
thought  often  of  how  I  should  improve  my  condition,  and 
dreamed  of  wealth.  Yet,  could  not  I  attain  it.  I  dare 
not  abandon  a  calling  for  which  God  and  not  my  flock, 
knew  how  little  I  was  fitted,  for  it  secured  my  bread. 
Thinking  these  thoughts,  I  was  on  a  railroad  train  in  the 
state  of  Missouri,  on  the  night  of  December  22d,  1862. 


118  BROWNS   REVENGE. 

On  the  car  were  only  eleven  persons,  males,  for  it  was  a 
bitter  night  I  arose  and  stood  near  the  stove,  and  a 
lamp  burned  dimly  .above  my  head.  And  as  I  stood 
there  there  came  a  rough  man,  and  standing  beneath  the 
light,  and  seemingly  careless  of  my  presence,  he  took 
from  the  pocket  of  his  vest  a  small  flat  package,  folded 
tightly  in  a  piece  of  yellow  paper,  upon  which  was  a 
name.  He  unfolded  the  same,  and  as  I  looked  he  counted 
certain  bank-notes,  called  as  I  knew  Treasury  notes. 
They  were  new,  and  at  first  I  looked  from  curiosity.  I 
perceived  there  were  ten  of  them,  and  that  each  was  of 
the  denomination  of  one  thousand  dollars. 

I  went  again  to  my  seat,  and  the  man  to  his.  But  I 
pondered  of  the  money  I  had  seen.  In  my  heart  I  thought 
that  God  had  not  been  just  to  me.  The  man,  I  saw,  was 
a  rough  and  uneducated  man,  and  he,  I  thought,  will 
spend  this  all  in  the  pleasures  of  such  as  he,  while  I, 
knowing  so  much  of  what  money  may  bring,  am  deprived 
of  all." 

"  And  I  thought  further.  How,  said  I,  might  a  man 
obtain  this  money  and  go  happy  arid  unpunished.  I 
knew  that  criminals  were  fools,  but  I  thought  I  could  do 
better  than  a  common  thief.  Where  should  I  hide  it 
that  I  might  calmly  defy  search  ?  I  arose  and  went  near 
the  man,  and  I  saw  that  one  small  corner  of  the  package 
was  above  his  pocket.  My  face  burned ;  I  could  feel  the 
blood  racing  in  my  veins.  So  near  it  seemed,  so  easy. 
I  went  again  and  looked  into  my  small  travelling-bag. 
There  was  no  hiding-place  there,  for  men  look  keenly 
into  linings  and  corners  whenever  they  may  be,  and  there 
is  where  mere  thieves  make  mistakes.  But  I  uncon- 
sciously took  into  my  hand  the  commonest  article  in  life, 
41  cake  of  soap, — only  a  small  square,  new  and  unnsed. 


BROWN'S  REVENGE.  119 

I  carried  this  with  me  into  a  place  of  concealment  and 
locked  the  door.  I  cut  from  the  end  a  small  mortise, 
and  carefully  saved  the  piece.  Then  I  hollowed  out  the 
interior, — not  too  much, — and  saved  the  crumbs.  I  re- 
member as  I  looked  upon  this  simple  and  childish  piece 
of  work,  that  it  was  indeed  an  infernal  machine.  But  I 
again  approached  the  sleeping  man,  snoring  heavily 
upright  in  his  seat.  I  looked  around;  there  was  not  a 
wakeful  person  in  the  car.  As  I  gently  drew  out  the 
package,  and  knew  that  I  held  ten  thousand  dollars  in 
my  hands,  my  hair  rose  upon  my  head,  and  crime,  crime, 
crime,  seemed  to  ring  in  my  ears.  But  it  seemed  too  late 
to  go  back.  Half  wild,  I  retreated,  and  in  a  few  seconds 
the  money  was  sealed  in  the  soap-cake,  the  end  which 
had  been  cut  slightly  bruised  upon  the  floor,  as  if  by 
falling,  and  the  whole  was  in  my  bag  and  I  in  my 
seat." 

"  Very  soon,  it  seemed  to  me,  the  man  awoke,  and  in 
a  moment  called  out  that  he  had  been  robbed.  The 
doors  were  locked,  the  train  stopped,  and  every  man 
offered  himself  to  search.  Hats  were  turned  out,  valises 
emptied  and  every  nook  investigated.  I  offered  mine 
with  avidity.  Having  yielded  to  crime  I  became  nar- 
dened.  The  cake  of  soap  fell  on  the  floor,  a  man  picked 
it  up,  mechanically  smelled  of  it,  handed  it  to  another, 
and  finally  it  was  tossed  upon  a  seat  and  left  for  many 
minutes.'7 

"Finally,  it  became  apparent  that  there  were  no 
thieves  on  that  car,  snd  a  general  impression  prevailed 
that  the  man  had  lost  no  money.  But  when  the  train- 
conductor  told  him  as  much,  and  blamed  him  for  causing 
the  loss  of  time,  he  was  stricken  down  by  a  brawny  blow, 
and  the  cruelly  robbed  and  wronged  man  left  the  train 


120  BROWN'S  REVENGE. 

and  went  out  into  the  bitter  night,  raving  and  cursing, 
utterly  ruined."  * 

"But  as  the  train  sped  on  its  way,  there  was  one  even 
more  wretched  than  he.  I  was  afraid  of  my  shadow.  I 
dared  not  return  to  my  honest  wife  and  my  prattling 
children,  and  account  for  my  wealth.  Since  then  I  have 
not  seen  them,  nay,  nor  any  creature  who  could  remind 
me  of  my  days  of  purity.  I  have  been  punished,  for  I 
would  give  my  life  to  even  hear  of  those  toward  whom  I 
dare  not  even  look." 

The  reader  ceased,  and  raising  his  eyes  and  hands, 
exclaimed, "  and  now,  may  God  through  Christ,  mercifully 
forgive  all  my  sins,  and  restore  to  this  man  his  own,  and 
let  me  die." 

There  was  a  deep  silence.  The  stranger  had  turned 
from  red  to  pale,  and  sat  gazing  motionless  into  the  fire 
wrapped  in  thought.  Years  had  quenched  the  bitterness 
of  his  wrong,  and  as  he  looked  at  the  man  who  had  suf- 
fered more  than  he,  he  seemed  to  forget  vengeance.  Fi- 
nally, old  Maxwell  rose,  hitched  up  his  waistband,  drew 
his  hand  across  his  eyes,  and  said :  "  This  are  bad,  but 
'taint  no  killin'  offense  in  my  opinion,"  and  sat  down. 
But  his  words  elicited  no  response.  The  group  sat  silent, 
looking  into  the  dying  fire,  their  heads  bent,  and  each 
man  evidently  thinking  more  of  the  strangeness  of  the 
story  than  of  his  function  as  juryman.  Finally,  the 
stranger  arose  slowly,  buttoned  his  ragged  coat,  looked 
around  him  upon  the  group,  and  advanced  slowly  toward 
Denham. 

"Parson,"  said  he,  "I  told  ye  all  I  wuz  busted.  I 
haint  got  no  luck.  My  gal's  dead,  an  my  friends  is  for- 
sook me.  You  done  it, — done  it  sneakinly  on  a  sleepin' 
man.  I  don't  want  nothin'  now, — I  don't  want  yer  ors- 


121 

pital,  or  yer  bilin'  spring,  or  yer  gold.  You  kin  burn 
yer  will, — ye  kin  keep  yer  curse,  an'  I'd  even  scorn  to 
kill  ye.  Let  me  tell  ye  somethiag  which,  with  all  yer 
smartness  ye  aint  learned  yit.  Ye  can't  cure  the  blight 
of  a  man's  youth  by  givin'  back!  1  haint  no  children, — 
no  wife, — no  home, — no  character, — no  nothin',  an'  ye 
can't  give  them  things  to  me.  I  tell  ye,  I'm  busted,  an' 
you  done  it.  Parson!  fool!  thief! — I  want  none  of  yer 
trumpery,  keep  'em  an'  be  damned  eternally  to  you." 

And  hurling  this  frightful  anathema  behind  him,  he 
strode  through  the  door  and  out  into  the  night,  and  his 
footsteps  died  away  upon  the  road. 

One  by  one  the  rough  men  arose,  and  silently,  and 
with  no  glance  aside,  went  away,  and  James  Dodd,  cler- 
gyman and  thief,  was  alone  in  his  stolen  house  and  with 
his  stolen  wealth. 

They  spent  no  time  in  parleying;  they  wrote  no  sen- 
tence, but  the  verdict  was,  to  be  forsaken  and  despised 
in  the  loneliness  of  disgrace  and  crime. 

And  when  the  frosty  sunlight  streamed  through  the 
dusty  panes  in  the  early  morning,  the  face  it  shone 
upon  was  a  dead  man's  waxen  mask,  and  the  suicide  had 
ended  all,  with  one  ghastly  gash  from  ear  to  ear. 

The  spring  murmurs  on,  and  the  tall  cottonwoods  grow 
green  and  beautiful  in  the  desert.  Nature  and  truth 
alone  are  triumphant,  for  the  ranche  has  crumbled  into 
decay,  and  the  fair  church  of  Saint  Lazarus  was  built 
with  the  stolen  gold. 
9 


A    DAY   WITH    THE    PADRES.* 

r  I  ^IIAT  lonely  and  far-away  tract  of  wilderness  which 
JL  became  ours  through  that  contest  which  made 
General  Taylor  a  hero  and  a  president,  whose  Capital, 
the  "  City  of  the  Holy  Faith,"  was  occupied  first  by  our 
army  in  1850,  and  which  from  that  time  has  been  called, 
in  contradistinction  from  the  immense  domain  from  which 
it  was  wrung,  New  Mexico,  has  been  the  victim  of  all 
the  governmental  vicissitudes  which  are  the  common 
inheritance  of  foster-children.  In  its  legislative  cham- 
bers, the  same  rancorous  oratory  is  indulged  in ;  the  same 
voluminous  and  useless  statutes  are  enacted,  repealed 
and  amended ;  the  same  caucusses  and  conspiracies  are 
held ;  the  same  private  interests  are  looked  after  in  the 
name  of  the  public  good,  as  in  our  own  virtuous  Com- 
monwealth, or  any  other  of  the  glorious  thirty-seven. 
In  some  of  these  things  New  Mexico  has  gone  beyond 
her  sisters,  and  her  senate  chamber  has  been  the  arena 
in  which  murderous  hate  has  ended  in  blood,  and  beside 
its  Speaker's  chair,  men  have  died  by  the  bullet.  Only 
one  thing  she  yet  lacks.  Be  patient,  statesmen.  The 
day  will  come  when,  clothed  in  uprightness  and  throned 
in  honor,  her  legislature  will  be  called  upon  to  elect 
senators. 

Then,  at  every  change  in  the  administration,  and  some- 
times oftener,  comes  the  more  or  less  obscure  man,  a 
stranger  to  the  people  and  their  habits  and  interests, 

*  This  chapter  was  not  written  in  the  interests  of  any  religious  controversy, — with 
which  the  author  in  these  pages  has  nothing  to  do, — but  simply  as  a  narration  of  facta 
apparent  to  any  observing  resident,  regardless  of  religious  bias. 


A   DAY   WITH    THE    PADRES.  123 

often  incompetent  from  the  beginning,  and  always  em- 
barrassed by  his  new  surroundings,  who  for  a  brief  period 
is  to  be  Governor  of  the  Territory.  Included  in  his  do- 
minion, is  that  wild  and  remorseless  scourge  of  civiliza- 
tion, the  Apache,  and  the  swarthy,  power-loving  Span- 
iard, the  traditions  of  whose  race,  and  whose  national 
instincts,  almost  forbid  a  conception  of  that  form  of  gov- 
ernment which  he  has  cause  sometimes  to  consider  un- 
just, which  he  privately  regards  as  an  experiment,  and 
which  in  his  heart  he  dislikes.  For  a  brief  time,  this 
man  holds  in  his  hands  the  power  which  is  nominal,  and 
wears  upon  his  unaccustomed  brow  the  laurels  which  of 
all  green  things  fade  soonest;  and  another,  better  or 
worse  as  chance  shall  decide,  but  uniformly  the  average 
politician,  comes  to  take  his  place — but  always  to  sit  in 
the  same  uneasy  seat,  to  enjoy  the  same  transient  honor, 
and  to  retire  in  the  same  disgust. 

But  this  yearly  legislature,  this  periodical  governor, 
and  this  roster  of  secretaries  and  judges,  are  not  the 
rulers  of  New  Mexico.  They  do  not  control  its  affairs, 
or  prescribe  its  code,  or  occupy  any  place  in  the  hearts  of 
its  people.  Who  is  the  ruler  ?  You  need  hardly  turn 
your  eyes  aside  to  see  him.  You  need  not  crowd  any 
ante-chamber  or  attend  any  levee  to  catch  a  glimpse  of 
him.  He  has  no  mansion,  holds  no  receptions,  makes  no 
appointments  to  office,  and  places  his  distinguished  auto- 
graph upon  no  legislative  enactment.  He  has  no  wife, 
and  no  children  that  are  called  by  his  name,  nor  any 
social  relations.  The  President  of  the  United  States 
may  send  as  many  governors  as  he  pleases,  the  legislature 
may  manufacture  statutes  at  its  august  pleasure ;  when 
they  have  done  all,  this  man  alone  has  power,  and  he 
alone  rules.  You  may  see  this  actual  governor  any  day 


124  A   DAY   WITH   THE    PADRES. 

upon  the  village  street.  His  long  black  coat  floats  behind 
him  as  he  passes  by.  His  step  is  soft  and  his  demeanor 
humble,  and  his  broad-brimmed  hat  sits  squarely  over  a 
downcast  eye  and  a  pale  and  smoothly-shaven  visage. 
As  you  look  at  him  you  know  he  is  one  who  has  no 
vices,  and  is  a  man  of  midnight  devotions,  of  long  vigils, 
and  of  fasting  and  prayer.  An  odor  of  sanctity  lingers 
in  his  path  as  he  hurries  by.  Sturdy,  rebellious,  fighting 
Puritan  though  you  may  be,  you  somehow  feel  that  your 
steady  stare  as  he  passes  you  had  better  have  been  a 
humbler  one,  and  that  the  reverent  upward  glance,  the 
hurried  sign  of  the  cross  and  the  whispered  benedicite  you 
might  have  had  for  the  asking,  would  do  you  no  harm. 
Of  all  the  hundreds  with  whom  he  associates  and  whom 
he  influences  in  this  strange  country,  this  man  is  the 
only  one  who  thoroughly  understands  himself  and  has  a 
definite  purpose  in  living.  With  all  others  the  purposes 
and  ambitions  of  life  change  with  years  and  circum- 
stances. He  has  no  dreams,  and  is  not  disturbed  by 
ambition.  He  has  devoted  himself  to  a  purpose,  which 
in  all  the  annals  of  the  remarkable  brotherhood  to  which 
he  belongs,  none  of  his  kind  have  ever  been  known  to 
abandon.  The  footsteps  of  his  successors  have  been 
marked  with  privations,  hunger,  toil  and  the  flames  and 
tortures  of  triumphant  martyrdom.  If  this  man  were 
called,  he  would  follow  in  their  footsteps.  In  short,  this 
humble  governor  of  the  people  is  a  member  of  the 
Society  of  Jesus.  The  heroism  of  his  brethren  is  historic, 
and  in  all  that  we  may  say  of  him,  let  us  begin  by  being 
just.  To  the  mother-church  he  is  son,  brother  and  hus- 
band, and  to  him  she  is  wife,  mother  and  sister.  He 
brought  his  faith,  his  zeal  and  his  unscrupulousness  with 
him  when  he  came  across  the  sea  with  the  mailed  and 


.  A    DAY   WITH    THE   PADRES.  125 

dauntless  adventurers  of  Spain  three  hundred  years  ago. 
Wherever  they  bore  the  sword,  he  carried  the  cross;  and 
with  an  inconsistency  which  is  not  the  least  curious  fact 
in  the  history  of  the  great  church,  he  proclaimed  the 
religion  of  the  meek  and  lowly  One  amid  the  smoking 
signs  of  rapine,  desolation  and  unjustifiable  conquest. 
The  diamonds  and  gold  and  life-waters  he  sought  were 
in  the  hearts  of  men ;  and  when  the  soldier  had  departed 
the  Jesuit  stayed.  Amid  all  the  changes  of  three  centu- 
ries he  has  remained.  His  depleted  ranks  have  been 
constantly  recruited.  An  adventurous  explorer,  carrying 
his  influence  and  his  faith  into  wilds  so  remote  and  so 
inhospitable  that  he  never  returned;  working,  enduring, 
scheming,  moulding,  through  all  these  ages  he  has  never 
forgotten  his  Master  or  his  Order. 

In  view  of  all  this,  there  is  nothing  wonderful  in  the 
fact  that  New  Mexico  is  one  of  the  most  thoroughly 
Catholic  countries.  In  all  these  barren  hills  and  silent 
valleys  the  foundations  of  this  mightiest  of  all  the  fabrics 
reared  in  the  name  of  Christ  are  deep  and  strong.  To 
these  people  the  church  is  a  passion,  strong  as  it  is  among 
the  Andalusian  hills.  In  this  one  spot  alone,  in  broad, 
free-thinking  America,  can  be  found  the  church  of  Saint 
Peter  as  it  is,  and  is  intended  to  be.  !N"ot  in  Rome  itself, 
are  its  essential  features  more  perfectly  preserved.  The 
pomp  and  circumstance  and  imagery,  the  elaborate  cere- 
monial and  intricate  form,  the  gloomy  and  awe-inspiring 
mystery,  and  the  blind  and  dumb  belief, — are  all  there. 
The  religious,  or  rather  the  church  idea,  pervades  all  the 
classes  and  conditions  of  life.  Beginning  at  Santa  Fe 
the  names  of  nearly  all  the  towns  are  suggestive  of  saints, 
or  crosses,  or  passions,  or  sorrows.  The  boys  are  fre- 
quently named  Jesus,  and  the  daughters  some  one  of  the 


126  A    DAY   WITH   THE   PADRES. 

Queen  of  Heaven's  countless  designations.  The  emblem 
of  the  cross  is  everywhere,  and  the  old  and  crumbling 
church  which  stands  in  the  plaza,  as  most  of  them  have 
stood  while  the  generations  have  been  gathered  around 
them  in  slumber,  are  the  centres  of  all  life,  and  the 
neuclei  around  which  cluster  all  there  is  of  society, 
interest  or  affection. 

These  church  buildings  themselves  are  evidences  of 
the  modifications  of  which  Catholicism  is  capable,  in 
adapting  itself  to  ignorance.  There  is  one  system  for  the 
refined  and  educated,  and  (with  its  essential  ceremonies 
unchanged)  quite  a  different  one  for  the  credulous  and 
unlettered.  The  walls  are  hung  round  with  the  com- 
monest of  colored  prints  of  saints,  angels,  crucifixions 
and  flaming  hearts.  The  altar  blazes  with  candles,  and 
brass,  and  crimson  calico,  and  there  is  a  wooden  railing 
in  front,  beyond  which  the  most  daring  of  curious 
worshippers  never  ventures.  But  the  costly  and  ornate 
surroundings  with  which  the  Ilomish  church  is  wont  to 
aid  her  worship,  are  unattainable  on  this  far  verge  of 
Christendom.  Within  these  mildewed  walls  the  mighty 
diapason  and  the  thrilling  voice-like  tenor  of  the  old 
world  organ  have  never  sounded.  In  the  rude  gallery, 
the  musicians  who  answer  feebly  to  the  priest's  responses 
are  the  same,  with  the  same  instruments,  who  furnished 
the  thin  strains  at  last  night's  fandango.  But  never  is 
the  ceremonial  wanting  in  that  mystery  and  solemnity 
by  which  the  simple  hearts  which  deem  this  grandeur  are 
impressed.  Tawdry  and  cheap  as  the  surroundings  are, 
all  the  instruments  of  ancient  power  are  still  present. 
The  touch  which  is  holy,  the  genuflection  which  is  saving, 
the  words  which  bind  or  loose  on  earth  or  in  heaven,  are 
never  absent.  When  the  book  is  closed,  and  the  bell  is 


A   DAI    WITH   THE   PADRES.  127 

rung,  and  the  candles  are  extinguished,  the  pall  which 
falls  upon  the  excommunicated  soul  is  as  terrible  in  its 
darkness,  and  as  frightful  in  its  doom,  as  though  lau  nched  at 
the  sinner  from  the  high  altar  of  Saint  Peter's.  In  many 
instances  the  building  is  holy  from  its  very  age.  Here, 
the  Mexican  peasant  reflects,  worshipped  his  father  and 
his  grandfather,  and  within  its  sacred  precincts  their 
bones  are  mouldering.  The  earthen  floor  has  been 
hardened  by  the  pious  knees  of  those  for  whose  souls' 
repose  he  prays.  Bodily  and  visibly  sacred  to  him,  he 
deems  the  legend  carved  above  the  door  to  be  very  truth 
when  it  tells  him,  "  This  is  the  gate  of  Heaven."  And 
over  all,  the  guardian  of  his  inheritance,  the  agent  of  his 
soul,  presides  his  silent,  amiable,  sad-faced  pastor,  learned 
in  those  things  which  it  is  not  for  such  as  he  to  know, 
and  versed  in  the  mysteries  of  that  fated  book  which  he 
dare  not  read.  Obedience  to  this  man  is  his  only  hope. 
He  is  clad  in  a  mysterious  power.  He  is  learned,  he  is 
silent,  and  with  the  common  things  of  life  he  has  naught 
to  do.  The  wily,  patient  Jesuit  seems  to  him  to  lead  a 
higher  life,  and  to  be  clothed  with  mystery.  And  when 
he  comes  to  die,  no  lips  but  the  padre's  can  whisper  in 
his  ear  those  words  which  his  soul  must  carry  with  it  as 
the  Shibboleth  which  opens  the  crystal  gates.  It  is  he 
who  in  this  world  prescribes  the  doleful  penance  for 
unwonted  sins,  and  whose  prayers  shorten  the  term  of 
punishment  hereafter.  He  it  is  who  knows  the  inmost 
secrets  of  a  sinful  life,  but  whose  -lips  are  sealed  by  an 
almost  supernatural  power.  Through  the  confessional, 
earth  and  heaven  are  both  in  his  hands.  In  truth,  this 
man  is  the  governor  of  the  country. 

In  these  matters  I  would  not  wrong  the  priest.     In  the 
doing  of  these  things  he  follows  as  blindly  as  he  leads. 


128  A   DAY  WITH   THE   PADRES. 

For  the  deceptions  he  knowingly  practises  upon  his 
flock,  he  claims  the  excuse  of  necessity ;  but  he  too  must 
wash  his  soul  by  vigils  and  prayers,  and  his  lips  also 
must  find  absolving  touch,  or  he  is  lost.  A  power  which 
he  reverences  even  as  the  peasant  reverences  his,  enjoins 
many  a  midnight  vigil  and  many  a  hard  penance.  And  so 
onward  through  all  the  grades  of  sacerdotal  authority 
until  at  last  it  touches  the  chair  of  Saint  Peter,  and  ends 
in  infallibility  itself,  impersonated  in  the  poor  old  man 
who  wanders  in  the  corridors  of  the  Vatican,  tortured  by 
the  encroachments  of  the  temporal  power,  and  wondering 
that  the  crowns  that  once  waited  for  his  setting,  now 
mock  the  tiara  upon  his  own  gray  head. 

The  church  in  IsTew  Mexico  is  always  open.  But  early 
each  morning  the  sleeper  is  awakened  by  the  ringing  of 
the  bells  which  call  to  matins.  Then  the  senoras  hurry 
along  the  streets ;  the  peasant  leaves  his  fruit-basket  or 
his  donkey-load  of  wood;  and  each,  casting  worldly  cares 
aside,  enters  the  rude  doorway  bent  upon  duty.  Each 
stops  at  the  dilapidated  barrel  at  the  door  which  contains 
the  holy  water,  reverently  besprinkles  himself,  bows 
toward  the  altar  and  falls  upon  his  knees,  busily  mutter- 
ing the  prayers  of  whose  meaning  he  has  small  concep- 
tion and  whose  repetition  is  a  matter  of  merit  rather 
than  feeling.  As  for  the  senorita,  she  draws  near  the 
altar  and  occupies  the  choice  places  of  the  sanctuary,  but 
the  fruit-vender  and  the  fuel-merchant,  clad  in  the  coarse 
garments  of  poverty,  creep  far  into  a  corner  and  pray 
from  afar  off.  Within  the  altar-rail,  stands  the  priest, 
muttering  in  a  monotone,  as  if  for  himself  alone,  the 
prayers  which  seem  to  be  an  unpleasant  monotony.  A 
single  acolyte,  being  a  prematurely-awakened  and  rather 
eleepy  lad,  swings  a  censer  beside  him.  Compared  with 


A   DAY   WITH   THE    PADRES.  129 

the  awakening  hum  of  the  dewy  morning  without,  the 
scene  seems  dreary  enough.  The  braying  of  asses,  the 
cackling  of  domestic  fowls,  and  the  bleating  of  flocks  are 
heard.  Perhaps  the  dreary  roar  of  the  sunrise  gun  from 
some  neighboring  fort  breaks  in  upon  the  prayer ;  or  the 
regular  cadence  of  a  passing  squad  of  guards  wakes 
echoes  strangely  at  variance  with  holiness.  The  hasty 
services  are  soon  over,  and  the  worshippers  whose  con- 
sciences pricked  them  into  attendance  go  forth  again 
more  gladly  than  they  came.  But  the  old  church  still 
stands  with  its  wide-open  doors,  and  he  who  will  may 
come  and  pray.  So  it  will  stand,  and  its  morning  and 
evening  bells  will  jangle,  for  a  dull  century  yet  to  come. 

But  where  you  have  stood  thus  far  is  not  the  church  ; 
and  if  you  are  a  stranger  and  an  American,  and  possess 
some  of  the  true  gringo  impudence,  you  may  conciliate 
the  padre,  and  he  will  show  you  all  those  things  whereby 
this  sketch  was  suggested. 

First  of  all  you  may  notice  the  curious  wooden  boxes, 
with  doors  in  front,  very  much  after  the  fashion  .of  a 
wardrobe.  The  padre  smiles  and  passes  on  as  you  stop 
to  regard  them.  He  knows  that  in  your  Protestant 
ignorance  you  have  never  poured  your  miserable  tale  of 
secret  crime,  through  a  piece  of  perforated  tin,  into  the 
ear  of  a  listening  priest.  He  divines  that  you  need  no 
explanation,  for  those  are  the  confessionals.  Here,  you 
see  the  actual  means  by  which  the  church  gains  over  her 
children  the  rule  of  fear.  God  knows  how  many  mur- 
derous dagger-stabs,  with  all  their  villanous  motives  and 
rewards,  have  been  detailed  in  whispers  at  that  box.  You 
imagine  as  you  stand  there,  the  story  of  the  frail  woman 
a  hundred  times  repeated,  pardoned  by  virtue  of  confes- 
sion only  to  sin  again ;  and  you  wonder  as  you  watch  the 


130  A   DAY   WITH   THE   PADRES. 

black  receding  figure,  if  that  priestly  coat  really  conceals 
a  heart  burdened  with  the  knowledge  of  countless  crimes, 
the  mere  whisper  of  which  would  turn  to  hate  the  loves 
of  years,  and  build  scaffolds,  and  sharpen  daggers,  and 
make  demons  of  placid  men  and  fiends  of  careless  women. 

Upon  a  rude  wooden  frame  below  the  altar,  the  most 
prominent  feature  in  the  body  of  the  church,  stands  a 
figure  so  curious  in  its  appearance,  so  uncouth  and 
tawdry,  that  you  wonder  to  think  that  this  babyish  image 
represents  the  central  figure  in  all  the  worship  of  the 
mother-church.  It  is  a  wooden  doll,  three  feet  high, 
whose  features  approach  no  more  nearly  to  womanly,  or 
even  human,  beauty  than  do  the  rude  caricatures  of 
school-children.  Upon  the  head  is  a  gilt  pasteboard 
crown,  and  at  the  feet  are  artificial  roses.  The  awkward 
wooden  fingers  are  encased  in  cotton  gloves.  A  pink 
gown,  a  long  veil,  gaudy  knots  of  ribbon  and  gay  finery 
complete  the  figure.  It  is  hideous.  You  hardly  deem 
it  possible  that  such  a  thing  could  answer  any  religious 
purpose.  Nevertheless,  before  this  image  none  pass  erect 
and  with  covered  head.  Before  it  are  offered  the  sinner's 
humblest  prayers  and  costliest  gifts.  This  is  she  to  whom 
the  sorrowing  hearts  of  millions  turn  for  hope  and  com- 
fort. It  is  the  Queen  of  Saints,  the  Mother  of  Sorrows, 
the  Star  of  the  Sea,  the  Mother  of  God.  Before  this 
monstrous  thing,  every  day,  and  almost  every  hour,  heads 
are  bowed  to  the  very  earth,  and  to  it  are  fervently 
offered  the  longest  prayers  the  worshippers  know. 

But  with  a  look  upon  his  face  which  seems  a  reproach, 
the  padre  waits  for  you  at  the  door  of  what  may  be 
termed  the  property-room  of  the  church.  Here  you  per- 
ceive, on  all  hands,  the  odds  and  ends  of  sanctity.  There 
are  the  long  wooden  sticks  painted  white,  which,  with  a 


A    DAY   WITH   TIJE    PADRES.  131 

taper  in  the  end,  do  duty  as  wax  candles  in  many  pro- 
cessions. In  one  corner  stands  an  image  which,  having 
met  with  an  accident  damaging  to  some  of  its  prominent 
features,  is  laid  up  for  repairs.  There  are  branching 
candlesticks,  canopies,  croziers,  banners  and  vestments. 
Upon  one  side  of  the  room,  in  ancient  drawers,  are 
quantities  of  linen,  and  vestments  of  scarlet  and  lace. 
You  cannot  touch  them ;  you  may  just  peep  and  pass  on. 
Here  is  a  long  wooden  box,  in  size  and  shape  very  sug- 
gestive of  the  cemetery.  What  does  it  contain  ?  You 
are  answered  whisperingly  that  within  it  is  kept  a  life- 
size  image  of  Christ.  Surely  that  is  enough,  and  you 
have  no  further  curiosity.  There  are  relics  there  too, 
you  are  told,  such  as  few  churches  possess,  and  baptismal 
and  marriage  records  so  old  that  the  parchment  is  in 
rags.  But  you  are  glad  to  pass  out  into  the  sunshine, 
and  get  away  from  a  place  where  people  who  worship 
the  same  God  and  believe  in  the  same  hereafter  you  dor 
should  teach  you  such  strange  religious  experiences. 

Outside,  the  graves  lie  so  thick  that  there  seems  to 
have  been  a  contest  for  occupancy.  And  such  is  really 
the  case.  The  skulls  of  ousted  occupants  grin  at  you 
unburied.  The  ground  is  sacred,  and  the  church  derives 
a  revenue  from  the  sale  of  graves.  Therefore,  the  whole 
place  has  been  dug  over  and  over  again  until  it  is  a 
Golgotha. 

And  now,  as  you  depart,  it  is  well  to  remember  that 
among  all  these  things,  not  the  least  curious  is  the  padre 
himself.  He  well  knows  how  you  and  all  your  kind 
regard  those  things  he  has  had  the  courtesy  to  show  you. 
He  could  probably  see  your  thoughts  in  your  face.  But 
he  has  made  no  sign,  offered  no  argument,  and  only 
endeavored  to  gratify  your  curiosity  and  do  you  a  service. 


132  A   DAY  WITH   THE   PADRES. 

He  leaves  you  at  the  door  with  a  courteous  gesture  and 
a  smile,  and  you  go  as  you  came,  unquestioned,  and  he 
turns  back  again  to  his  life's  purpose.  True  to  his  char- 
acter in  all  things,  your  Jesuit  is  also  a  gentleman.  You 
may  smile  or  be  shocked  at  his  faith  and  his  worship,  you 
may  hate  his  teachings  and  his  Order,  but  he  will  force 
you  to  remember  one  good  among  the  evil, — the  courtesy 
of  a  stranger. 

So  numerous  are  the/esfas,  or  holy  days,  that  long 
before  the  year  is  ended  two-thirds  of  it  seems  to  have 
gone  in  processions  in  honor  of  innumerable  saints. 
What  of, religion  there  may  be  in  the  motley  and  irregular 
processions  which  ramble  through  the  streets,  hooting, 
screaming,  and  firing  ancient  and  rusty  blnnderbusses 
loaded  to  the  muzzle,  is  apparent  only  to  the  Mexican 
mind.  In  them  there  is  no  solemnity,  and  not  a  shadow 
of  anything  like  devotion.  Sometimes  two  irate  devotees 
stop  and  engage  in  the  manly  art,  and  frequently  the 
bearer  of  an  image  to  which  he  has  often  prayed,  puts 
down  the  wooden  saint  while  he  indulges  in  a  draught  of 
aguardiente.  These  occasions  are  the  laughter  and  sport 
of  the  whole  gringo  population,  and  their  efforts  in 
evoking  fun  out  of  the  occasion  are  often  a  source  of 
serious  inconvenience  in  the  performance  of  the  noisy 
rites.  In  the  Capital  city  there  has  been  resident  for 
many  years  a  half-idiot,  who  has  always  been  the  avail- 
able man  to  impersonate  Christ  on  the  cross,  in  an  annual 
festival  in  which  that  representation  is  necessary.  Cer- 
tain evil-disposed  heretics  informed  the  fellow  that  if, 
every  time  the  procession  passed  a  certain  spot  on  the 
plaza,  he  would  come  down,  they  would  give  him  a  drink 
of  that  fluid  which  he  dearly  loved.  His  mind  was  not 
so  much  impaired  that  he  was  likely  to  forget  so  precious 


A    DAY   WITH    TirE    PADRES.  13S 

a  promise  as  that,  and  when  the  procession  came  to  the 
spot,  the  miserable  impersonation  of  the  victim  of  the 
most  fateful  tragedy  the  world  ever  saw  so  struggled  and 
screamed  in  his  awful  position  that  he  was  taken  down 
and  permitted  to  indulge  his  appetite.  The  scene  occurred 
again  and  again,  and  the  scandalized  padres  and  their 
flocks  had  only  the  alternative  to  abandon,  or  endure. 
Those  whose  cheeks  burn  as  they  read  this  recital  of  a 
scene  to  which  there  are  yet  living  witnesses,  need  no 
further  explanation  of  the  atrocious  mummeries  of  these 
religious  processions. 

The  true  church  life  here  is  one  long  penitence  in  the 
way  of  expiating  the  sins  of  the  soul  by  the  sufferings  of 
the  body.  Such  of  necessity  is  the  case  in  a  land  whose 
people  are  so  deeply  and  constantly  stained  with  social 
crime.  One  man  goes  for  a  prescribed  period  with  small 
stones  in  his  shoe;  another  wears  round  his  waist  a 
knotted  thong;  a  third  eats  no  meat;  etc.,  etc.  But  these 
are  the  lighter  punishments ;  there  are  others  which  are 
severe  even  to  cruelty.  There  is  an  organization  known 
as  the  "  Flagellants,"  who  lash  their  bare  backs  with 
stinging  cactus,  and  as  the  blood  trickles  from  the  cruel 
stripee,  they  gather  satisfaction  from  the  reflection  that 
the  excess  of  punishment  over  what  is  necessary  to  atone- 
for  their  own  sins,  stands  to  the  credit  of  the  Catholic 
world  in  general.  Some  of  the  penances  partake  largely 
of  the  ridiculous,  such  as  sleeping  in  the  church-yard, 
and  knocking  the  head  upon  the  church-steps.  It  seems 
that  the  fragile  senoritas  get  off  very  nearly  free,  and  are 
mainly  required  to  say  an  unwonted  number  of  prayers, 
or  confine  themselves  to  a  less  number  of  lovers ;  either 
of  which  would  prove  something  of  a  cross  to  them.  It 
is  strange  that  with  the  knowledge  of  the  crime  and  the 


134  ..      A   DAY   WITH   THE    PADRES. 

means  of  punishment  both  at  hand,  the  spiritual  agent  of 
these  erring  souls  accomplishes  nothing  farther  in  check- 
ing the  crying  sin  of  society  and  the  race.  But  in  the 
midst  of  janging  bells  and  constant  prayers,  through  con- 
fessions and  penances  and  rituals,  one  of  the  most  thor- 
oughly Catholic,  not  to  say  religious,  countries  in  the 
world,  is  debauched  to  its  very  core.  The  fact  stands 
unchallenged  that  female  purity  is  unknown.  Only  the 
dagger  or  the  bullet  checks  the  course  of  illicit  love.  The 
fearful  things  that  follow  in  its  course  pass  on  and  on  in 
an  endlessness  whose  ghastliness  defies  even  pity.  And 
in  this  sacerdotal  devil-fish,  whose  tentacles  grasp  the 
very  hearts  of  the  people,  there  is  no  hope.  With  a 
foundation  laid  deep  in  ignorance  and  superstition,  it  has 
held  them  for  nearly  three  hundred  years,  but  has  held 
them  for  the  church,  and  not  for  truth.  The  unknown 
graves  of  all  its  martyrs  in  the  wilderness  are  the  graves 
of  the  martyrs  of  a  church,  and  not  of  a  religion ;  and  the 
«nd  will  not  be  until  men  own  the  souls  for  which  they 
are  accountable. 

Truly,  as  I  remember  him,  the  padre  seems  the  per- 
vading spirit  of  every  dreamy  Mexican  day.  The  placid 
street  would  want  its  character  if  I  failed  to  recall  him  as 
he  flitted  silently  by.  I  could  scarcely  recall  the  sunshine's 
yellow  glow  across  the  hills,  were  it  not  for  his  inter- 
vening shadow.  The  stalwart  Pueblo  woman,  gentlest 
and  most  deeply  wronged  of  all  the  aborigines,  smiles 
pleasantly  as  she  unrolls  from  his  blanket  her  big  naked 
baby  for  you  to  see,  and  lo !  the  priest  is  there.  You 
,  watch  the  swarthy,  noisy  little  boys  as  they  play  at  bull- 
fight by  the  garden-wall ;  and  even  as  you  wonder  to 
think  that  in  all  times  and  races  the  children  are  the 
same,  comes  the  padre  with  his  stick,  the  fun  is  over,  and 


A   DAY   WITH   THE    PADRES.  135 

he  and  they  are  gone  together.  If  you  stand  and  watch 
the  still  evening  fade  into  still  calmer  night,  while  the 
Tyrian  dies  gyow  gray  above  the  pines,  and  the  bold  hills 
seem  to  wrap  themselves  in  an  inky  cloak;  even  then,  a 
black-stoled  figure  glides  between  you  and  the  fading 
light,  and  you  lose  the  sense  and  scene  in  wondering  at 
his  ubiquity.  Every  idle  hour  and  trifling  scene  which 
is  present  with  me  in  my  recollections  of  that  dreamy 
land,  finding  a  place  in  thought  by  virtue  of  some  hidden 
charm,  seems  brooded  over  by  this  same  Jesuit.  And  as 
I  think  of  him,  I  recall  all  that  others  have  told  of  him 
and  his  influences,  in  the  still  older  land  where  he  and 
his  sombre  brood  were  born  :  the  days  when  Spain  was 
the  incubus  of  Europe;  when  Philip  brooded  in  his  cell 
in  the  Escurial ;  when  the  Inquisition  held  its  horrible 
sittings;  when  Coligny  was  murdered  in  his  bed,  and 
Navarre  of  the  white  plume  was  stabbed  in  the  street ; 
aye,  when  the  red  vision  of  the  exile  of  Patmos  brooded 
over  all  the  crowns  and  thrones  of  Europe,  as  she  broods 
today  over  the  barren  hills  and  sombre  valleys  and 
squalid  villages  of  New  Mexico.  This  is  the  day  of  his 
possession ;  the  time  of  his  strife  is  yet  to  come.  The 
horde  which  wanders  toward  him  is  a  horde  of  Vandals 
and  iconoclasts.  The  small  white  churches,  whose  pas- 
tors are  the  bright  sons  alike  of  Democracy  and  Protest- 
antism, will  yet  nestle  among  the  hills,  and  these  viva- 
cious children  will  yet  whoop  and  halloo  and  chatter  in 
the  English  tongue.  Yes,  but  then  the  subtle  charm  will 
have  departed  ;  the  peace  of  contentment  and  ignorance 
will  have  forever  flown.  When  the  charm  which  clings 
with  the  ivy  to  dilapidated  things  is  gone,  and  the  land 
is  redolent  of  pine  and  paint  and  energy,  then  will  have 
been  washed  out,  not  without  its  memories  and  regrets, 
the  last  footprint  of  the  old  world  upon  the  new. 


JOE'S     POCKET. 


u  IPX  RUNE  ag'in,  I  sw'ar.  Joe  Biggs,  you  air  the 
j  J  orneryest  human  as  lives.  Drat  yer,  say  nuthin' 
to  we,  fur  I  can't  stand  it.  Thar's  the  bed."  And  the 
maligned  Joe  Biggs  blindly  flung  himself  upon  the 
creaking  cords  of  a  not-very-luxurious  couch,  aided 
thereto  by  a  movement  on  the  part  of  the  speaker  which 
was  too  sudden  to  be  regarded  as  a  caress. 

The  people  outside  laughed  a  little  as  they  heard  this 
berating,  and  began  a  hasty  retreat  as  the  tumbled  flaxen 
head  of  the  woman  immediately  after  appeared  at  the 
doorway.  Moonlight  is  kind  to  beauty,  but  homeliness, 
as  embodied  in  a  face  fairly  chalky  in  unhealthy  white- 
ness, a  hay-colored  mass  of  unkempt  hair,  a  scowl  which 
boded  no  kindness,  and  over  all  a  shabby  night-dress, 
has  no  friend  in  the  beams  which  seem  to  cover  all  except 
such  deformities  as  these.  The  woman  turned  away 
again  and  retired  into  the  darkness  of  the  shanty,  the 
retreating  footsteps  of  the  roysterers  died  away  in  the 
distance,  and  soon,  under  the  placid  light,  it  was  as 
though  there  were  no  drunken  men  or  cross  women  in 
all  the  world. 

It  was  a  cabin  by  the  side  of  a  mountain  road.  The 
huge  pine  logs  of  which  it  was  constructed  had  been  cut 
from  the  stumps  hard  by;  and  so  far  as  rude  skill  and 
main  strength  could  make  it  so,  the  place  was  comfortable 
enough.  It  was  the  ancient  pattern  of  the  "  cabin. " 
There  was  one  door  and  one  window,  a  chimney  of  mud 
and  stones,  and  a  small  yard  was  enclosed  with  an  apology 


JOE'S  POCKET.  137 

for  a  fence.     It  was  the  hill-country,  and  log  houses, 
trees,  green  grass  and  a  general  mountain  coolness  and 
freedom,  formed  a  grateful  contrast  to  the  tiresome  adobe 
villages  and  low  fields  which  lay  in  the  valley  a  few  miles 
away.     Nor  was  the  cabin  entirely  alone.     A  quarter  of 
a  mile  away  was  the  large  quadrangle  of  green  grass,  in 
the  centre  of  which  arose  a  slender  flag-staff,  surrounded 
by  houses  little  better  than  Joe's,  but  in  which  dwelt 
men  and  women  so  far  removed  from  him  that  he  saw 
them  only  from  afar.     Then  there  were  glimpses  of  white 
canvas,  horses  neighed  from  the  long  rough  sheds,  and, 
as  if  to  guard  the  bare  standard  of  authority,  a  sentinel 
paced  back  and  forth  before  the  flag-staff,  and  two  brass 
guns  stood  open-mouthed  and  glittering  on  either  side. 
In  a  word,  it  was  the  universal  concomitant  of  settlement 
and  safety  throughout  the  land,  a  military  post.     A  spot 
than  which  it  would  be  hard  to  find  one  more  green  and 
beautiful,  was  enlivened  all  the  year  by  the  parade  of 
arms,  and  the  incense   of  military  devotion  arose  each 
morning  and  evening  in  the  sullen  growl  and  lingering: 
blue  smoke  of  a  gun  at  whose  sound  the  deer  started  and 
listened,  and  the  rabbit  bounded  away  to  his  cover  in  the 
copse. 

But  if  you  followed  the  road  which  straggled  in  indis- 
tinctness past  Joe's  cabin,  you  would  find  yourself  soon 
among  glades  scented  with  balsamic  odors,  among  rocks 
which  had  been  rolled  from  their  original  beds  and  tum- 
bled down  the  hill,  and  steep  hillsides  whose  red  earth 
showed  signs  of  curious  work.  It  was  a  land  of  wild 
scenes  and  wilder  men,  protected  only  by  force  from  the 
Apache,  where  the  dwellers  even  in  their  worst  estate 
could  dream  of  nothing  better.  But  it  was  also  the  land 
of  gold.  Where  ran  the  stream  in  the  valley  a  mile 
10 


188  JOE'S  POCKET. 

below,  the  mule  drew  in  an  endless  circle  the  rude  shaft 
of  the  primitive  arastra.  The  Mexican  patiently  worked 
his  cradle  with  dirt  carried  thither  upon  a  donkey's  back, 
and  over  all  brooded  the  restless  spirit  of  American 
enterprise,  wandering,  prospecting,  speculating  and  gam- 
bling ;  rough,  vindictive,  generous,  and  ever  athirst  for 
wild  adventure  and  wealth. 

Joe  Biggs  was  that  kind  of  man  wlio  needs  no  par- 
ticular description  to  those  acquainted  with  his  species 
in  a  mining  country.  He  was  a  Tenneesean,  so  long 
absent  from  the  land  of  his  nativity  that  he  himself  had 
nearly  forgotten  the  fact.  Though  still  a  robust,  middle- 
aged  man,  he  had  been  for  many  years  a  mountaineer, 
and  a  victim  of  all  the  thousand  vicissitudes  which  here, 
as  elsewhere,  befall  a  man  whose  principal  characteristic 
is  recklessness.  It  would  seem  a  poor  place  for  domestic 
troubles,  and  that  any  kind  of  prudence  might  enable  a 
man  to  leave  them  out  of  his  calendar  of  sorrows.  But 
Joe  had  not  that  prudence,  and  in  the  appearance  and 
temper  of  his  last  wife,  he  was  the  most  unfortunate  man 
in  those  diggings.  Joe  was  just  that  kind  of  man  that  is 
always  married — married  without  any  regard  to  place, 
circumstances,  appearance  or  compatibility.  There  are 
many  men  like  Joe.  The  world  would  be  deluged  with 
domestic  dolefulness  if  the  story-tellers  only  knew  who 
they  were. 

Years  before,  when  the  mountaineer's  tall  figure  was 
very  straight,  and  his  tawny  beard  knew  no  thread  of 
gray,  in  his  saunterings  in  and  about  the  village,  he  one 
day  came  upon  a  maid  of  the  nut-brown  variety,  whose 
eyes  were  very  black  and  her  bare  shoulders  very  shapely, 
and  as  she  milked  goats  in  the  yard,  he  leaned  upon  the 
wall  and  tried  to  twist  his  Tennesseean  dialect  into  some- 


JOE'S  POCKET.  139 

thing  like  Spanish.  It  is  useless  to  tell  the  rest.  The 
dead-aud-gone  beauty  had  long  been  among  the  memo- 
'ries  and  regrets  which  men  and  women  everywhere  are 
apt  to  carry  in  their  hearts.  We  can  not  tell  what  thoughts 
were  at  work  in  Joe's  heart  as  he  delved  in  the  mountain- 
side, while  the  daughter  she  had  left  him  sat  near  and 
watched  the  work,  or  how  sweet  the  water  tasted  which 
she  brought  him  from  the  spring,  or  what  weighty  and 
important  things  were  discussed  as  her  lively  chatter 
went  continuously  on  through  all  the  work,  and  Joe's 
Icindly  bass  came  in  between.  Fathers  and  daughters 
are  plenty  enough,  and  all  the  world  knows  their  pro- 
verbial intimacy,  and  how  in  this  perfect  equality  of  June 
and  December,  June  is  generally  the  wiser  and  stronger 
of  the  two. 

But  Joe's  last  matrimonial  venture  was  of  a  different 
kind.  She  was  a  long  and  awkward  Texan,  one  of  the 
kind  that  are  constantly  wandering  westward,  and  are 
ever  ready  to  be  married  upon  a  day's  acquaintance,  to 
almost  any  one.  Joe  must  have  been  demented.  He 
afterwards  frequently  thought  of  the  circumstance  with 
that  extenuating  possibility  as  an  excuse,  for  he  came, 
saw,  conquered,  and  led  his  angular  bride  away  from  the 
cottonwood  beneath  which  the  ceremony  had  been  per- 
formed, all  within  three  days  from  his  first  sight  of  her 
"  folks'  "  camp.  Then  the  mountaineer's  troubles  began, 
and  after  about  a  year,  he  staggered  home  from  the 
trader's  store  three  night's  out  of  the  week,  in  manner 
and  form,  and  meeting  with  the  same  reception,  as  set 
forth  in  the  beginning  of  this  history. 

So,  as  the  woman  comforted  her  wakefulness  with 
muttered  words  wnich  were  only  a  compromise  with 
profanity,  and  Joe  snored  in  fortunate  unconsciousness 


140  JOE'S  POCKET. 

of  the  etorm,  there  was  still  another  person  in  the  cabin, 
who,  more  than  any  of  the  three,  was  a  sufferer  in  the 
habitual  misery  of  drunkenness  and  domestic  strife.  The 
daughter  was  fifteen  years  old,  which,  with  such  as  she, 
means  all  the  softness,  tenderness  and  beauty  of  youth, 
together  with  the  perfect  maturity  of  womanhood.  That 
her  training  had  been  thus  far  peculiar  and  imperfect, 
was  not  her  fault,  nor  that  of  her  uncouth  tutor.  He 
was  rough  and  coarse,  as  his  kind  ever  are,  but  years  of 
roughness  and  coarseness  semetimes  fail  to  blot  out  in  a 
man's  heart  the  memory  of  the  time  when  he  was  inno- 
cent. As  he  went  to  delve  in  the  hill-side,  ever  searching 
for  the  yellow  dust,  and  ever  finding  only  enough  to  feed 
hope,  the  child  went  with  him,  grasping  his  big  finger 
with  her  tender  childish  clasp.  As  she  lay  asleep  on  his 
ragged  coat  in  the  pine-shadows,  while  the  noon  heats 
baked  the  bare  red  hills,  the  long  lashes  trailing  her 
Hushed  cheek,  and  the  withering  wild  flowers  in  her 
little  pudgy,  tired  hand,  Joe's  heart  warmed  toward  her 
with  a  feeling  which  brought  back  everything  which  was 
good  in  the  youth  of  a  wild  life.  The  mountaineer  was 
not  utterly  bad,  nor  entirely  weak,  and  as  day  by  day  her 
fingers  twined  in  his  beard,  and  her  love  crept  into  his 
heart,  a  consciousness  of  the  greatness  of  his  trust  grew 
upon  him.  And  then  the  little  one  had  the  blood  of  a 
generation  of  East  Tennessee  mountain  virtue  in  her 
veins.  But  Joe  never  thought  of  that.  The  rough 
miners  occasionally  saw  their  neighbor  engaged  in 
strange  occupations,  as  they  passed  by.  As  for  instance, 
leaning  upon  his  pick,  the  child's  bright  eyes  studying 
his  face,  and  forgetful  in  his  earnestness  that  mountains 
and  trees  have  ears,  he  told  her  of  the  country  and  the 
people  where  he  was  born ;  of  coon-hunts  and  log-roll* 


141 

ings;  of  the  few  months  in  which  he  learned  all  he  knew 
of  the  hardness  of  the  benches  of  a  primitive  school-house, 
and  more  than  all  of  his  mother.  He  tried  to  make  the 
wondering  infant  understand  that  he  could  have  a 
mother.  £Tay,  more,  he  ventured  to  try  to  teach  her 
again,  some  of  the  things  that  his  mother  had  taught 
him.  Perhaps  there  were  other  listeners  than  the  pass- 
ing miners  or  the  wondering  child,  as  in  his  blundering 
way  he  told  her  of  the  Maker  of  all  things,  and  the 
Christmas  of  so  many  hundred  years  ago.  But  in  the 
end  he  always  came  unconsciously  back  to  the  beginning 
of  his  story, — his  mother.  He  seemed  to  fancy  that  she 
might  be  living  yet.  "  When  yer  daddy  finds  a  pocket 
we'll  go  back  there  little  Jun,"  he  said. 

Joe's  bad  ways  had  begun  but  lately,  and  his  daughter, 
still  his  companion,  but  no  longer  a  child,  began  to  have 
the  dawn  of  trouble  in  her  fair  face.  Now,  when  the 
woman's  tongue  had  abated  its  vigor,  and  she  too  seemed 
at  last  to  have  forgotten  her  husband's  sin  in  slumber, 
the  girl  arose  and  glided  through  the  open  door  into  the 
brilliant  night.  The  conventionalities  of  the  world  had 
little  place  in  her  life,  and  as  she  leaned  upon  the  broken 
fence  and  looked  down  the  mountain  road,  her  small  feet 
were  bare  in  the  dew,  and  her  round  arms  lay  listlessly 
upon  the  topmost  rail.  She  was  not  conscious  of  herself 
as  she  stood  thinking,  or  that  the  beautiful  light  which 
was  so  unkind  to  her  step-mother's  features,  made  her 
face  a  Madonna's,  as  she  looked  up  into  the  blue  depths, 
with  the  tears  on  her  lashes.  By  and  by,  in  the  vague 
unhappiness  which  she  could  hardly  define,  and  for  which 
she  knew  no  remedy,  she  laid  her  forehead  upon  her 
arms,  and  did  what  woman  in  all  times  and  races  is  apt 
to  do, — -just  cried.  It  was  past  midnight.  She  heard 


142  JOE'S  POCKET. 

dimly  the  sentinel's  challenge,  as  the  nightly  pomp  of  the 
" grand  rounds"  came  and  passed;  the  faint  clink  of  arms 
and  the  small  commotion  at  the  guard-house,  as  the  surly 
crew  fell  into  line  to  be  counted;  and  lastly  the  retreating 
footsteps  and  settled  silence  which  proclaimed  the  un- 
timely ceremony  done.  She  had  heard  these  sounds  a 
hundred  times,  they  were  not  curious,  and  she  straight- 
way forgot  them  in  her  girlish  tears. 

Presently  the  sound  of  a  quick  footstep  came  nearer 
and  nearer  up  the  road.  It  was  a  jaunty  figure  that  came 
rapidly  towards  her  as  she  looked.  The  crimson  sash 
upon  his  shoulder  proclaimed  him  only  "  officer  of  the 
day,"  but  it  was  worn  like  the  baldric  of  an  earl.  The 
moonlight  played  upon  button  and  epaulet,  and  kissed 
the  sombre  plume  in  his  hat,  and  flashed  up  and  down 
the  bright  scabbard  he  carried  upon  his  arm.  But  all 
this  was  not  so  much  the  fault  of  Lieutenant  Thurston  as 
of  the  moonlight.  He  was  only  a  soldier;  but  he  was 
young,  and  had  the  dash  which  is  characteristic  of  every 
man  who  follows  the  flag  and  the  drum  for  love  of  arms. 
As  he  came  he  timed  his  footsteps  to  the  tune  he  hummed 
— something  that  had  in  its  air  a  suggestion  of  life  and 
devil-may-caredness  which  was  strangely  at  variance  with 
the  sleepy  hour  at  which  he  marched. 

The  blithesome  son  of  Mars  had  finished  his  round  as 
required  in  regulations,  and  under  the  influence  of  wake- 
fulness  and  stimulated  by  the  balmy  air  and  the  night's 
silvery  splendor,  had  continued  his  walk  up  the  mountain 
road.  Was  that  all?  Young  men's  actions  sometimes 
find  unconscious  excuses  in  their  hearts.  He  had  often 
been  here  before — so  often  that  every  gaunt  cactus  and 
every  stone  in  the  rugged  road  was  a  familiar  thing.  As 
he  came  blithely,  he  always  returned  thoughtfully.  About 


JOE'S  POCKET.  143 

the  hardest  thinking  the  lieutenant  did  was  when  he 
returned  from  Joe's  cabin.  Then  the  remembrance  of  a 
house  three  thousand  miles  away  came  into  his  mind  with 
a  tinge  of  bitterness.  He  thought  of  the  starchy  repecta- 
bility,  the  gold-spectacled  and  precise  propriety  of  the 
middle-aged  gentleman  whom  he  designated  as  "the 
governor."  Then  there  was  a  sister  or  two,  and  a  circle 
of  acquaintances.  But  the  crowning  reflection  was, 
what  would  mother  think  ?"  This  lady  the  lieutenant 
knew  very  well,  and  her  prominent  characteristics  had 
been  long  since  so  thoroughly  memorized  that  he  thought 
with  a  pang  of  the  pain  he  might  inflict  by  an  alliance 
with  anything  which  lacked  the  grand  essential  of  "  re- 
spectable associations."  That  there  was  another  side  to 
the  question  was  also  true.  He  was  far  away  from  any- 
thing which  touched  family  respectability.  He  was 
literally  owned,  and  all  his  hours  and  movements  were 
directed  by  the  great  republic  whose  uniform  he  wore. 
His  home  was  his  quarters,  his  profession  his  sword. 
Long  years  would  probably  pass  before  he  would  even 
see  the  home  or  the  people  which,  little  as  they  suspected 
it,  had  now  almost  passed  out  of  his  life. 

Joe's  daughter  was  not  in  the  habit  of  waiting  for  him 
by  the  fence.  Not  by  any  means.  But  the  young  soldier 
had  reached  that  stage  in  which  he  came  so  far  merely  to 
pass  and  see  the  homely  house  in  which  lived  and  slept 
the  creature  who  was  oftenestin  his  mind.  He  had  often 
seen  her  and  spent  an  hour  in  listening  to  her  lisping 
English,  watching  the  flushes  on  her  cheek,  weighing  her 
tact  and  evident  intelligence,  and  falling  still  more  deeply 
in  love.  But  it  had  always  been  on  casual  occasions,  and 
by  daylight. 

As  he  espied' her,  he  stopped  su-ddenly  in  his  song,  and 
said  as  usual,  "  By  Jove  !" 


144  JOE'S  POCKET. 

She,  after  hesitating  a  moment  between  inclination  and 
a  natural  sense  of  propriety,  stayed  where  she  was,  and 
the  flush  on  her  cheek  as  he  came  near  was  strangely  at 
variance  with  the  tear-marks  which  were  also  there. 

This  rash  young  man  could  not  have  felt  more  intense 
pleasure  in  meeting  any  of  the  queens  of  society  than  he 
did  then.  That  was  argument  enough  for  him,  as  it 
would  be  to  most  of  us  under  similar  circumstances,  as 
he  came  near  and  held  out  his  hand.  Then  he  also 
leaned  upon  the  fence  and  looked  steadily  at  the  oval 
face,  red  and  brown,  glorified  in  the  moonlight  and 
stained  with  tears. 

"  You've  been  crying,"  said  he. 

"SiSenor — yes."  And  then,  grateful  for  a  listening 
ear,  she  began  to  tell  of  the  cause  of  her  unhappiness. 
And  in  the  attempt,  the  sense  of  her  sorrows  overcame 
her  again,  and  she  laid  her  head  down  upon  her  arms 
and  sobbed  louder  than  ever. 

There  was  indeed  but  little  use  for  her  to  do  aught  but 
cry.  The  soldier  knew,  or  guessed  the  story  before.  But 
the  effect  was  such  as  might  have  been  expected  under 
the  circumstances.  The  pretence  of  comforting,  coupled 
with  a  secret  desire  to  have  the  pretty  trouble  go  on, 
came  to  the  lieutenant  on  this  occasion  as  naturally  as  it 
does  to  all  men. 

"  Don't  cry,"  he  said.  u  It  will  all  come  right  in  the 
morning." 

Such  miserable  platitudes  are  not  expected  to  amount 
to  anything,  and  they  did  not  in  this  case. 

"  The — the  woman  beats  me,"  she  said,  and  the  sobs 
became  almost  hysterical. 

Then  the  platitudes  were  at  an  end.  "  T3eats  you  ••' 
Did  you  say — do  you  mean  that  yon  miserable  harridan 


JOE'S  POCKET.  145 

has  ever  struck  you  ?"  and  his  face  grew  white  with 
indignation. 

"Look  here/' he  continued,  as  she  made  no  reply," 
why  don't  you  and  the  old — I  mean  your  father — cut 
loose  from  this  sort  of  thing?  You  and  he  can  live 
together,  can't  you  ?  Go  somewhere — do  something,  but," 
he  added,  "  don't  go  far." 

Then  he  came  a  little  nearer — so  near  that  a  tress  of 
the  girl's  loose  and  luxuriant  hair  lay  beneath  his  hand. 
"  You  must  not  imagine  that  because  your  miserable 
father  gets  drunk  and  the  other  creature  strikes  you, 
that  you  have  no  friends.  If  this  kind  of  thing  occurs 
again  we'll  make  it  warm  for  *em,"  and  then  the  lieuten- 
ant placed  his  hand  caressingly  upon  a  white  shoulder. 

Perhaps  he  meant  well — we  will  suppose  he  could 
hardly  help  it,  but  it  was  a  mistake.  The  girl  arose  from 
her  reclining  posture,  and  turning  toward  him  a  haughty 
and  indignant  face,  and  eyes  that  glowed  with  sudden 
fire,  without  a  word  went  into  the  house. 

As  Lieutenant  Thurston  walked  slowly  homeward,  he 
did  not  think  so  much  of  his  mother's  aristocratic  notions. 
His  mind  was  intensely  occupied  with  a  new  idea  of  the 
woman  he  had  just  seen.  Our  military  friend  was  just 
now  learning  that  womanliness,  and  the  virtue  that 
clothes  it,  regardless  of  associations  or  education,  is  an 
instinct  and  an  inheritance.  Old  Joe's  beautiful  child 
was  not  a  mere  Spanish  girl.  On  this  night  at  least,  if  never 
again,  her  free  Saxon  blood  and  her  father's  homely 
teachings  have  served  her  well.  The  soldier  pondered 
those  things.  He  was  deeply  stung,  and  his  face  burned 
with  mortification.  But  he  was  not  an  ignoble  creature, 
and  his  unspoiled  manhood  and  his  soldier's  honor  came 
to  his  aid.  "  If  that  is  the  kind  of  woman  it  is,"  he 


146  JOE'S  POCKET. 

mused,  "by  Jove  I  can't  see  what  family  respectability 
has  to  do  with  it."  And  he  was  more  deeply  in  love 
than  ever. 

In  the  morning  Joe's  spouse  awoke  sullen  and  sourT 
and  berated  him  more  than  ever.  The  girl  went  about 
with  a  sad  face,  over  which  came  at  intervals  a  red  flush, 
which  betrayed  her  remembrance  of  last  night.  The 
miner  went  away,  and  the  girl  stood  in  the  morning 
sunshine  again  by  the  broken  fence,  and  watched  the 
guard-mount  afar  off,  and  thought  she  discerned  a  tall 
figure  there,  and  almost  wished  he  would  come  again. 
How  small  her  world  was,  and  how  large  a  figure  one 
man  could  make  in  it,  she  never  reflected.  It  is  ever  so. 
A  woman's  world  may  be  filled  with  the  tiniest  dot,  so 
she  but  loves  it. 

When  Joe  Biggs  came  again  at  noon,  he  talked  to  his 
daughter.  "  We  can't  stand  this  much  longer,  kin  wey 
Sis?"  As  she  only  answered  by  a  look,  he  continued  : 

"  I've  done  made  up  my  mind.  We'll  quit.  It  wus  a 
mistake  o'  mine,"  pointing  over  his  shoulder  toward  the 
house  with  his  thumb;  "but  I  meant  it  well.  Do  ye 
mind  the  place  over  the  mountain  I  showed  ye  once 
when  we  thus  thar  ?  Well,  there's  a  pocket  thar.  How 
do  I  know?  Well,  I  don't  jest  know,  but  this  kind  o7 
thing  can't  last  allus — luck  '11  come  to  a  man  sometime ; 
and  I'm  a  mind  to  go  anj  try  fur  it  thar.  Git  ready 
Sis;  we'll  go  fur  it  now — to-night;  and  mind,  now,  don't 
tell  nobody ." 

When  Lieutenant  Thurston  passed  the  miner's  cabin, 
shortly  after  sunset,  he  thought  he  saw  a  laden  donkey 
whose  rider  was  a  woman,  far  up  among  the  pine  shad- 
ows on  the  mountain  road.  It  was  indistinct  in  the 
gloaming,  but  the  man  who  plodded  behind  reminded  him 


JOE'S  POCKET.  147' 

of  Joe.  The  matter  passed  from  his  mind,  and  he  forgot 
it  in  thinking  of  something  he  did  not  see,  for  the  only 
living  thing  at  the  cabin  was  the  woman  who  sat  upon- 
the  step,  her  chin  in  her  bony  hands,  eyeing  him  as  he 
sauntered  past  with  the  vindictiveness  of  all  her  kind 
towards  anything  which  looks  like  respectable  humanity. 

The  days  passed,  and  the  weeks,  and  nobody  seemed 
able  to  answer  the  question,  "  where  is  Joe  ?"  The  wo- 
man came  to  the  commandant  for  bread,  and  declared 
herself  cruelly  deserted,  and  very  badly  wounded  as  to 
her  feelings ;  and  finally  she  departed  unregretted  with, 
a  party  of  her  countrymen,  for  a  land  where  men  were 
more  faithful.  As  for  Lieutenant  Thurston,  he  kept  his 
thoughts,  whatever  they  were,  to  himself.  lie  was  sus- 
pected of  a  careless  weakness  for  "  Joe's  daughter,"  and 
rallied  upon  that  point  by  his  companions.  But  he 
seemed  to  fail  to  perceive  any  pleasantry  in  their  careless 
remarks  about  the  absent  girl,  and  they  desisted.  It 
would  not  be  strange  if  he  thought  his  advice  to  her  that 
night  was  connected  somehow  with  her  and  her  father's 
unexplained  departure,  and  that  the  character  of  his  last 
interview  with  her  was  such  as  to  render  him  rather  odi- 
ous to  her  recollection  than  otherwise. 

The  summer  months,  with  their  glory  of  air  and  sun- 
shine and  balm,  passed  away,  and  when  the  earliest  snow- 
Hakes  of  mountain  winter  were  sifted  over  the  land,  Joe 
and  his  daughter  seemed  wellnigh  forgotten.  But  the 
dames  and  gentlemen  of  the  garrison  would  have  been 
much  surprised  had  they  known  that  the  gayest  and 
brightest  man  of  them  all — the  life  of  their  limited  and 
exclusive  gatherings — had  a  greater  regard  for  the  mere^ 
recollection  of  the  old  miner  and  his  beautiful  child  than 
he  had  for  all  of  them,  or  any  of  the  names  or  faces  in- 


148  JOE'S  POCKET. 

the  far-away  land  where  he  had  spent  his  boyhood  and 
which  he  still  called  "  home."  The  lieutenant,  his  fellow- 
officers  thought,  was  growing  "  odd."  He  borrowed  the 
topographical  charts  from  the  adjutant's  office  and  studied 
the  geography  of  the  wild  mountain  ranges.  He  ques- 
tioned the  wandering  hunters  and  miners,  with  the  hope 
that  they  might  tell  him  something  of  the  persons  he 
was  thinking  of.  But  all  were  ignorant.  Joe  and  his 
daughter  had  strangely  dropped  out  of  the  world. 

The  young  soldier  began  to  think  that  he  had  reached 
that  problematical  part  of  life  in  which  a  man  seems  no 
longer  to  have  any  use  for  himself.  He  had  grown  tired 
of  his  daily  life  and  his  routine  of  duties.  His  pleasures 
had  become  very  tame  and  insipid,  and  the  winter's 
inactivity,  though  only  begun,  seemed  endless  and  irk- 
some. His  constant  thought  of  the  miner's  daughter, 
which  was  the  real  secret  of  all  this,  he  excused  under 
tjae  plea  of  curiosity.  More  and  more,  as  he  thought  of 
it,  it  seemed  possible  that  by  some  rare  chance  he  might 
find  her  hidden  among  the  hills  of  that  almost  unknown 
stream  whose  waters  ran  toward  the  Pacific  thirty  miles 
to  the  westward.  All  that  men  knew  of  the  valley  of 
the  Gila  then,  were  stories  told  by  returning  explorers  of 
a  stream  from  whose  undisturbed  current  the  trout  leapt 
in  the  tamenesss  of  unlimited  nature  ;  of  uplands  smil- 
ing in  the  greenness  of  almost  perpetual  summer,  and 
valleys  in  which  the  traveller  seemed  to  have  entered 
upon  a  new  world.  The  hills  were  full  of  precious  things, 
and  the  game  which  started  from  every  brake  made  it 
a  kind  of  a  hunter's  paradise.  Lieutenant  Thurston  had 
heard  much  of  this  current  geography.  For  a  long  time 
he  had  heard  carelessly,  but  of  late  it  had  seemed  to 
offer  a  fair  excuse  for  getting  rid  of  himself.  When  he 


JOE'S  POCKET.  149 

had  asked  the  commandant  to  organize  a  scout  to  march 
in  these  regions,  and  had  been  refused,  he  bethought 
himself  of  a  hunting  tour,  and  asked  for  a  leavc-of-absence 
and  an  escort.  These  he  managed  to  obtain,  and  after 
three  days  of  careful  preparation,  with  eight  men  and 
laden  mules,  he  wended  his  way  through  the  slush  of 
melting  snow  up  the  mountain,  where  Joe  and  his  daugh- 
ter had  gone  before.  The  man  upon  whom  depended 
his  safety  and  his  future  return,  was  a  Mexican  guide, 
who  confirmed  all  the  stories  of  the  Gila  country,  and 
who  had  led  explorers  there,  he  said,  before  Thurston 
was  born. 

Were  thie  a  journal  of  a  traveller's  adventures,  the 
frosty  solitudes  of  mountains  where,  perhaps,  a  white 
man  had  never  trod  before,  might  well  furnish  a  page. 
Men  tell  of  the  Adirondacks,  and  the  strange  wildness  of 
regions  which  every  summer  are  the  tramping-ground  of 
tourists ;  but  those  experiences  in  which  man  becomes  a 
companion  of  the  silence  which  has  been  unbroken  since 
time  was  young,  are  seldom  told.  The  slant  winter  sun- 
light lingered  along  the  aisles  of  pine,  and  tinged  with 
melancholy  glory,  white  peaks  unseen  and  unnamed 
before.  They  drank  of  snow-born  streams  which  passed 
in  cold  and  tasteless  purity  away  to  unknown  depths  and 
distance.  The  holly  hung  its  drapery  of  green  and 
crimson  upon  the  hoary  ledges,  and  the  greenbriar  and 
bramble  lay  in  matted  impenetrability  across  the  cavern's 
mouth.  Immense  boulders  sat  perilously  perched  on  the 
edges  of  abysmal  depths,  seeming  as  though  the  moun- 
tain wind,  or  the  grey-eagle's  nest,  or  the  finger  of  a 
child,  might  hurl  them  headlong.  The  hanging  creepers 
and  and  the  gray  moss  clung  with  tenacious  fingers  to 
dizzy  acres  of  perpendicular  granite.  Here  and  there 


150  JOE'S  POCKET. 

the  cold  blue  depths  of  a  mountain  tarri  lay  silent  between 
gray  peaks  that  had  been  mirrored  there  for  ten  thousand 
years,  and  on  its  oozy  edges  were  the  sharp  indentures 
made  by  the  hoofs  of  the  mountain  sheep,  the  round 
imprint  of  the  wild-cat's  cushioned  tread,  the  dog-track 
of  the  fox,  and  hardening  in  the  crust,  the  curious  marks 
which  seem  to  have  been  made  by  some  wandering  bare- 
foot child,  where  the  stupid  bear's  cub  had  come  to  lap 
before  his  winter's  slumber.  And  all  was  brooded  over 
by  a  magnificent  silence,  which  seemed  the  fitting  respite 
to  the  volcanic  thunders  which,  when  the  world  was 
new,  had  strewn  the  valley  with  its  fire-scarred  rocks 
and  thrust  the  bold  peaks  into  the  smoky  air.  The  gray 
bird  of  solitude  sat  upon  the  crag  and  plumed  his  feathers 
BO  near  that  they  could  see  the  yellow  ring  in  his  relent- 
less eye,  and  winged  his  way  to  his  unknown  eyry  with- 
out a  sound  of  wing  or  voice,  and  save  him  there  seemed 
to  be  no  inhabitant  of  earth  or  air.  In  glens  so  deep 
and  sheltered  that  only  the  sun  at  mid-day  looked  into 
•their  recesses,  the  hardy  mountain  flowers  still  bloomed 
-and  the  coarse  grass  was  green  and  brilliant.  The  ledges 
dripped  with  the  ooze  of  melting  snow,  and  the  slender 
icicles  which  grew  each  night  fell  tinkling  into  the  rocky 
depths  in  the  morning's  sun.  Only  on  the  far  summits 
where  the  foot  of  man  shall  never  rest,  winter  held  un- 
broken sway.  The  gathering  snow  which  propped  itself 
against  the  pines  on  the  mountain-side,  broke  loose  from 
its  fastenings,  and  tumbled  into  the  valley  a  fleecy  cat- 
aract which  flung  its  spray  into  their  faces,  and  buried 
an  acre  in  its  rest.  And  then  the  muffled  echoes  died 
away,  and  the  wanderers  turned  aside  to  wonder  when 
the  hour  would  come  that  should  wrap  them  in  cold 
suffocation  and  chill  their  faculties  into. drowsy  death. 


JOE'S  POCKET.  151 

Lineal  distance  is  not  to  be  measured  by  mountain 
wanderings.  After  many  days  of  devious  journeying, 
the  lieutenant  knew  that  the  warm  fires  of  the  post  were 
blazing  scarce  fifty  miles  away.  He  knew  too  that  some- 
where among  the  rocks,  perhaps  not  a  hundred  yards 
away,  were  the  dim  trails,  the  blazed  trees,  and  the 
remembered  landmarks  by  which  men  had  come  and 
gone  before,  and  which  shortened  distances  and  made 
intricacies  plain.  But  to  be  lost  in  the  mountains  is  to 
bo  dazed,  bewildered,  insane.  Men  lose  the  faculty  oT 
observation,  and  wander  in  an  endless  round.  They  sit 
down  to  final  despair,  when  only  a  ledge  shuts  out  the 
eight  of  home,  and  the  voices  of  friends  might  almost 
reach  their  ears.  The  lieutenant  was  lost.  He  knew  it, 
and  grimly  bit  his  lips.  The  guide  was  lost,  and  while 
he  pretended  a  familiarity  with  each  shadowy  glen,  and 
claimed  old  friendship  with  each  grim  peak's  imperturb- 
able face,  the  leader  knew  that  too.  With  a  contempt 
for  unwarranted  pretences  which  men  do  not  cease  to 
feel  even  in  despair,  he  addressed  the  Mexican  no  word, 
and  himself  quietly  took  the  lead.  The  party  rode  in 
silence.  The  knowledge  of  the  situation  was  in  every 
man's  face  except  the  master's.  He  gave  his  orders  with 
the  bluff  distinctness  of  the  parade-ground.  For  himself 
he  did  not  think  he  cared.  He  had  in  his  heart  the  high 
courage  which,  regardless  of'  physical  strength,  is  the 
result  of  early  training  in  the  family,  the  school,  and  the 
traditions  of  a  courageous  race.  He  was  one  of  that 
throng  of  gladiators  whose  strength  the  world  is  begin- 
ning to  understand,  and  in  whom  is  illustrated  the  differ- 
ence between  him  who  saluted  Nero  in  the  arena,  and 
him  whose  keen  blade  is  given  him  first  by  his  mother, 
and  sharpened  afterward  at  Harvard  or  West  Point,  or 


152  JOE'S  POCKET. 

mayhap  only  in  the  common  school.  Yet  this  young 
soldier  was  not  a  remarkable  man.  He  was  only  one  of 
those  who  are  carving  out  the  destinies  of  a  brilliant 
century  through  the  difficulties  of  a  daily  life.  He  knew 
that  beyond  there  was  an  open  country,  a  river,  a  plain, 
or  some  change  which  could  give  vision  and  hope,  and 
as  he  rode  silently  at  the  head  of  the  party,  he  fixed  his 
eye  upon  some  distant  object  which  might  keep  them 
from  wandering  in  the  endless  circle  of  bewildered  men, 
and  help  them  to  the  end  at  last,  whatever  that  end 
might  be. 

So  long  as  the  nightly  snow  melted  in  the  morning 
sun,  they  need  not  thirst.  So  long  as  the  startled  hare 
sprang  up  before  them,  they  need  not  want  for  meat? 
and  so  the  commandant  led  his  party  on.  At  night,  in 
some  sheltered  spot,  the  blaze  of  the  cedar-boughs  threw 
its  ruddy  glare  into  the  night's  brooding  darkness.  The 
fox  drew  near  to  wonder  at  the  illumination,  and  the 
green  light  of  the  deer's  bright  eye  fiashed  upon  them 
from  beyond  the  illuminated  circle.  It  was  a  wilderness 
where  even  the  Indian  seemed  never  to  have  come,  and 
in  the  tameness  of  astonishment  the  beasts  came  near  to 
them  in  seeming  friendship. 

Then  the  soldier  would  leave  his  companions  in  the 
silence  of  slumber  or  thought,  and  wander  away  among 
the  rocks  and  shadows.  He  did  not  go  to  brood  and 
think  alone.  It  seemed  to  him,  as  it  does  always  to  men 
in  such  circumstances,  that  He  whose  hand  had  reared 
these  pinnacles  came  near  and  filled  with  His  unseen 
being  the  sinless  solitudes  of  the  primeval  world.  In 
his  utter  helplessness  and  despair  he  looked  upward 
through  the  mighty  shadows  to  the  sailing  clouds  and 
calm  stars,  and  prayed.  Was  he  then  a  Christian  \  No, 


JOE'S  POCKET.  153 

but  he  who  asks  the  question  may  not  know  that  when 
men  utterly  lose  faith  in  any  power  of  their  own  to  save, 
they  may  reach  upward  and  almost  touch  the  mighty 
hand.  There  are  hours  when  no  man  is  an  Atheist. 

And  one  night,  as  he  walked  in  the  gloom,  he  looked 
back  and  saw  the  silent  group  painted  in  striking  colors 
by  the  brilliant  light.  A  faint  glow  went  before  him 
into  the  darkness,  and  he  seemed  to  see  the  outline  of  a 
path.  A  little  further  and  that  was  again  lost,  but  he* 
thought  he  detected  the  faint  odor  of  new-delved  earth.. 
Here  and  there  a  huge  boulder  lay  in  his  way,  and  as  he 
touched  them  with  his  hand,  he  could  feel  the  slimy 
dampness  of  that  side  which  had  lately  rested  in  the 
earth  of  the  hill-side.  Something  white  and  soft  caught 
upon  his  foot,  and  as  he  stooped  and  took  it  up,  it  seemed 
to  be — a  handkerchief.  He  held  it  before  his  eyes,  and 
spread  it  out  in  the  darkness  to  verify,  if  possible,  the 
tremendous  truth  that  it  was  indeed  a  link  with  the  world, 
and  then  with  a  new  hope,  placed  it  in  his  pocket. 
Then  he  sat  down  upon  the  dry,  dead  pine  fringes, 
beneath  an  overhanging  rock  to  think.  How  had  a  white 
handkerchief,  the  very  index,  not  only  of  civilization,, 
but  of  refinement,  come  to  be  lost  here  ?  There  was  a 
name  in  the  corner — the  faint  lines  upon  the  white  could 
be  distinguished.  But  whose  ?  He  longed  for  light  to 
see  that  human  name.  He  had  almost  started  up  to 
return  to  the  fire,  when  a  strange  sound  fell  upon  his  ear, 
and  he  stopped  to  listen.  It  was  as  a  whirlwind  heard  from 
far.  "  It  is  the  wind  in  the  pines,"  he  said  to  himself, 
and  still  listened  as  it  drew  nearer  and  nearer.  Then  a 
crackling  sound  mingled  with  the  roar,  and  presently  a 
great  bulk  in  the  darkness  leaped  with  a  dull  thump  into 
the  valley  before  him,  and  rolled  along  the  ground.. 
11 


154  JOE'S  POCKET. 

Then  another  fell  with  a  mighty  crash  almost  at  his  feet, 
and  he  crept  still  nearer  the  protecting  rock.  And  while 
the  great  roar  gathered  in  sound,  and  the  foaming  white 
sea  above  him  came  down  like  a  relentless  doom,  the 
pallid  face  and  drawn  lips  of  the  one  frail  man  who  stood 
in  its  path  were  turned  away,  and  as  the  pall  settled  at 
the  mountain's  base,  its  cold  folds  shut  in  a  figure  poor 
and  weak  as  compared  with  the  mighty  force  which  over- 
whelmed it,  but  grander,  indeed,  than  all  in  the  capacity 
for  a  heroic  struggle  with  death. 

In  the  morning,  the  soldiers  and  the  guide  looked  upon 
a  great  heap  of  snow,  whose  outer  edge  reached  nearly 
to  their  camp-fire.  "  He  is  dead,"  said  they,  as  they 
communed  among  themselves.  At  noon,  they  loaded 
their  beasts  again,  and  started  backward  towards  home. 
Was  it  indeed  backward  ?  The  eagles  which  watched 
their  wanderings,  and  the  gray  wolves  which  gnawed  and 
scattered  their  bones,  will  never  tell. 

But  he  was  not  dead.  The  shelving  rock  was  upon 
one  side,  and  the  white  wall  of  snow  upon  the  other,  and 
between  lay  his  bed  of  dry  pine  leaves.  As  the  hours 
passed,  a  blue  light  came  through  upon  him,  and  showed 
him  the  crystal  outline  of  his  hopeless  house.  He  called, 
and  the  dull  sound  he  heard  mocked  his  own  voice. 
But  he  did  not  lack  air ;  neither  was  he  wanting  in 
energy  or  hope.  He  could  touch  the  gray  rock  and  the 
earth,  and  they  seemed  of  the  world,  and  friendly.  He 
was  hungry,  and  the  blue-white  light  smote  upon  his 
eyes  and  numbed  his  brain.  As  he  reflected,  he  would 
have  given  all  his  knowledge  of  geography  in  general — 
nay,  all  he  knew  besides  —  for  the  topography  of  the 
snowy  world  in  which  he  was  buried,  so  that  he  might 
tell  upon  which  side  the  white  barrier  was  thinnest. 


JOE'S  POCKET.  155 

Then,  as  the  gnawing  and  weakness  of  hunger  came 
upon  him,  he  began  to  delve.  He  knew  that  strength 
would  fail  in  experiments,  and  where  he  begun  he  must 
continue.  As  his  fingers  grew  numb  and  stiff  in  his 
work,  he  wished  he  might  barter  all  his  hopes  in  life  for 
a  despised  spade.  But  his  prison  was  not  cold.  The 
snow  was  a  thousand  blankets,  and  the  radiating  heat  of 
the  earth  became  a  steam.  As  he  worked  he  took  the 
handkerchief  he  had  almost  forgotten,  to  wipe  his  brow, 
and  as  it  met  his  eye,  lo !  in  the  corner  stood  the  familiar 
name,  "  R.  Thurston,  U.  S.  A."  Fate  seemed  now 
doubly  in  league  with  mystery,  and  as  the  poor  man  held 
the  cloth  in  his  cold  fingers,  his  haggard  eyes  looked 
amazement. 

After  hours,  the  opaline  mass  grew  slowly  dark  again , 
and  he  crawled  backward  through  his  narrow  tunnel,  to 
warm  his  hands  and  rest.  Rest  came  with  sleep.  "  He 
giveth  his  beloved  sleep,''  and  the  angels  must  have 
looked  kindly  upon  the  spot  where,  beneath  his  tapestry 
of  snow,  one  lonely  pilgrim  lay  like  a  play-wearied  child, 
with  his  head  upon  his  arm  in  tired  slumber. 

When  he  awoke  he  knew  from  his  watch  that  he  had 
slept  five  hours.  He  was  frightened  to  think  how  the 
time  was  slipping  away  and  he  had  not  saved.  Hunger 
waits  not  upon  effort,  and  already  the  enemy  was  insidi- 
ously gnawing  at  his  vitals.  But  he  did  not  immedi- 
ately set  to  work  again.  On  the  contrary,  he  did  some- 
thing, which  to  the  uninitiated,  would  seem  the  very 
opposite.  He  was  not  utterly  without  a  solace  and  com- 
forter, and  this  comforter  is  one  which  has  accompanied 
men  in  much  toil  and  weariness  in  this  world.  It  comes 
to  every  camp-fire,  and  stills  like  a  balm  the  cry  of  hunger 
and  cold.  It  was  a  brown  pipe.  He  leaned  against  the  rock, 


156  JOE'S  POCKET. 

and  the  incense  of  the  Virginia  weed  ascended  and  was 
absorbed  in  the  roof  of  virgin  snow.  After  a  while  a 
calmer  light  came  into  his  eyes,  and  he  arose  aud  crept 
into  the  narrow  tunnel.  Lying  prone,  he  gathered  the 
soft  snow  from  above  and  pressed  it  beneath  him. 
Wearily  the  hours  passed.  Sixty  feet — seventy — ninety 
— a  hundred.  He  looked  backward  through  the  long, 
white  passage,  and  thought  of  the  unknown  distance  yet 
to  go,  and  his  strong  heart  almost  failed  him.  A  hun- 
dred and  ten — twenty.  His  head  was  dizzy,  and  the  blood 
from  his  numbed  fingers  stained  the  snow.  But  he  found 
something  which  was  not  white  and  cold,  and  drew  it 
forth.  It  was  a  dead  bird.  Even  as  he  lay,  he  tore  it 
limb  from  limb  and  ate  its  very  heart,  and  then  in  thank- 
fulness and  courage  delved  again.  Ten  feet  more,  and 
his  fingers  were  as  sensitive  sticks,  and  refused  their 
office.  Then  he  crept  slowly  backward  again,  and  crawl- 
ing to  his  couch,  tried  to  chafe  his  stiffened  limbs  into  new 
life.  Darkness  had  come  again,  and  he  again  slept.  He 
did  not  wake  until  morning,  and  then  his  raw  hands  were 
swollen  until  in  regarding  them  he  almost  smiled.  He 
crept  again  into  the  long  tunnel,  and  with  pain  at  every 
stroke,  worked  at  his  task  for  life.  A  huge  boulder 
intervened,  and  with  infinite  pains  he  delved  around  it. 
The  slow  hours  passed  and  he  was  still  another  hundred 
feet  nearer  the  far-off  world.  He  ate  the  snow  from 
thirst,  and  the  thirst  grew  as  he  ate,  and  now  his  throat 
was  sore  and  swollen,  until  the  act  of  deglutition  was  a 
torture.  He  was  chilled,  and  drowsiness  nearly  over- 
powered him.  He  was  afraid  to  sleep,  for  he  knew  that 
sleep  was  death.  lie  was  weary  with  a  langour  which 
he  could  not  understand,  and  the  narrow  backward  track 
seemed  too  long  to  be  traversed  again.  Weariness  had 


JOB'S  POCKET.  157 

overcome  hunger,  and  all  feelings  had  given  place  to 
utter  exhaustion.  And  still  with  weary  strokes  he  plied 
his  task.  He  knew  that  light  must  soon  come — or  death. 
He  could  not  afford  to  waste  strength  in  crawling  back- 
ward to  his  bed.  He  could  not  wind  his  watch  with 
those  swollen  and  senseless  fingers,  and  the  long  hours 
of  the  night  passed  uncounted,  and  still  with  that  me- 
chanical, dogged  energy  with  which  strong  men  fight 
death,  he  delved  on.  Three  hundred  feet,  and  when 
morning  again  shone  dimly  through  the  snow,  he  hardly 
noticed,  and  did  not  care,  that  through  the  mass  before 
him  it  came  stronger  and  clearer  than  before.  A  few 
more  strokes,  and  then  a  rest.  Then  a  reviving  energy, 
a  little  further  progress  through  the  icy  barrier,  and 
again  silence.  An  hour  longer,  and  the  efforts  are  such 
as  drowning  men  make  when  they  clutch  at  ropes  which 
are  flung  to  them  too  late.  There  is  no  perceptible  pro- 
gress now,  and  the  poor  wretch  cannot  even  see  that 
through  the  thin  crust  the  light  comes  full  and  strong. 
A  few  more  convulsive,  useless  efforts,  and  the  weary 
head  falls  upon  the  outstretched  arm,  and  the  last  gallant 
stroke  for  life  fails  in  the  drowsiness  wrhich  merges  soon 
into  an  eternal  sleep. 

-:=  -;:***#* 

The  January  sunshine  lights  up  the  little  valley  with  a 
blithesome  glitter,  which  seems  strongly  at  variance  with 
the  suow  upon  the  higher  peaks.  The  air  is  full  of  the 
balm  and  sweetness  which  is  the  characteristic  of  the 
southern  mountain  ranges,  and  on  every  hand  are  the 
evidences  of  that  strange  mingling  of  perennial  spring 
and  eternal  cold  which  in  more  level  countries  seems  a 
fable. 

Strewn  along  the  edges  of  a  noisy  stream  are  four  or 


158  JOE'S  POCKET. 

five  log  houses.  The  spots  of  brown  earth  dot  the  hill, 
side,  the  uprooted  boulders  lie  in  the  valley,  and  on  every 
hand  are  the  evidences  of  the  miner's  work.  The  settle- 
ment, in  the  very  heart  of  the  Sierras,  is  probably  very 
new,  and  as  yet  unheard-of  in  the  world  of  stocks  and 
trade.  Everything  necessary  to  a  rude  life  is  carried 
thither  on  donkeys'  backs,  and  costs  almost  its  weight  in 
the  precious  dust,  of  which  there  is  no  small  quantity 
hidden  in  these  cabins.  All  around  lie  the  peaks  and 
valleys  of  an  unknown  wilderness,  through  which  even 
the  miner  has  not  yet  wandered.  You  might  pass  and 
repass  within  a  few  hundred  yards  of  Biggs's  gulch  and 
never  suspect  its  existence.  The  old  man  himself  and 
his  daughter  passed  around  the  spur  and  near  the  new 
snow-bank,  about  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning,  on  the 
twentieth  of  January.  It  was  Sunday;  and  he  carried 
nothing  but  a  stick.  Their  errand  was  not  gold  this 
time,  but  wild  flowers  for  her  and  trout  for  him.  But, 
after  all,  there  was  something  in  their  errand  unsuspected 
by  them.  As  they  passed  by,  the  old  man  stopped  to 
regard  the  huge  drift  which  had  come  so  suddenly,  and 
whose  outer  crust  was  fast  melting  away  under  the  rays- 
of  the  valley  sun.  As  they  stood  there,  his  eyes,  ever 
accustomed  to  notice  the  small  things  of  nature,  discov- 
ered a  curious  cavity  in  the  snow,  fast  widening  in  the 
sun.  He  stooped  to  obtain  a  horizontal  view.  "  Suthin 
inside  begun  that  hole,  Sis,  an'  the  meltin'  is  a-finishin' 
of  it,"  he  said,  and  advanced  and  inserted  his  stick.  At 
the  very  entrance  it  touched  something  soft.  Then  he 
broke  away  the  crust,  and  there,  before  their  astonished 
eyes,  lay  a  blue-clad  figure,  the  face  downward  and  rest- 
ing upon  an  outstretched  arm.  It  were  useless  to  note 
the  ejaculations  of  astonishment,  some  of  which  had  a 


JOE'S  POCKET.  159 

touch  of  irreverence,  as  he  drew  forth  into  the  sunlight 
the  limp  figure,  and  the  bright  rays  kissed  the  pallid, 
suffering  face  of  the  soldier  who  had  fought  death  and 
was  almost  conquered.  It  would  have  been  entirely  in 
order  if  the  girl  had  screamed  and  swooned  away.  She 
did  neither,  but  her  face  took  at  once  a  rosy  flush  and  a 
deathly  pallor.  "Wait  a  minnit,"  shouted  the  old  man, 
somewhat  flurried,  and  started  off  as  fast  as  his  elderly 
limbs  could  carry  him.  As  he  passed  around  the  spur, 
the  girl  still  stood  looking  at  the  prostrate,  unconscious 
form,  and  her  face  showed  a  curious  mingling  of  emo- 
tions. Then  her  eye  caught  one  bleeding,  swollen  hand, 
and  as  she  knelt  and  lifted  it,  she  began  to  cry.  Then 
she  took  the  other,  and  it  would  seem  that  she  thought 
to  warm  and  heal  them  by  contact  with  her  fresh,  wet 
cheek.  As  the  moments  passed,  she  drew  nearer  and 
nearer  to  him.  She  touched  his  cheek  with  her's,  and 
pushed  back  the  damp  hair.  Then  she  suddenly  left 
him  and  ran  to  the  bank  around  which  her  father  had 
gone,  and  looked  up  into  the  village.  No  one  was  com- 
ing. She  glanced  quickly  around,  and  not  even  a  bird 
was  near.  Then,  as  if  fearful  of  the  loss  of  time,  she 
darted  back  to  where  he  lay,  and,  kneeling,  lifted  his 
shoulders  in  her  arms,  and  pressed  his^head  to  her  heart 
as  a  mother  presses  her  child.  Even  as  the  tears  fell 
upon  his  face,  a  rosiness  of  pity  and  love  overspread  her 
own.  She  exulted  in  it.  She  kissed  his  closed  eyes. 
"Ay  di  mi!"  she  said;  "poor  ting,  poor  ting!"  But 
even  as  she  caressed  and  lamented,  the  soldier  opened 
his  eyes.  She  just  laid  him  down  again,  and  sat  apart 
in  utter  shame,  daring  neither  to  look  at  him  or  leave 
him.  Then  the  old  man  came  with  his  companions,  and 


160  JOB'S  POCKET. 

as  they  carried  him  to  the  cabin  the  girl  followed  far 
behind. 

It  is  strange,  indeed,  how  near  the  brink  a  man  may 
go,  and  yet  return.  Another  hour  in  the  snow-bank  and 
the  soldier  would  never  have  seen  the  sunlight  again.  As 
it  was,  it  seemed  that  the  sluggish  blood  was  slow  to  re- 
sume its  chilled  functions.  But  as  he  lay  beside  the  one 
window  of  Joe's  cabin  and  looked  out  upon  the  varied  scene, 
it  seemed  that  he  did  not  much  care.  The  distant  post, 
guard-mount  and  dress  parade,  the  midnight  tour  on  the 
guard-line,  his  loved  profession,  and  the  charm  and  glitter 
of  arms,  all  seemed  to  be  far-away  and  almost-forgotten 
things.  As  he  lay  there,and  the  strength  came  slowly  back, 
he  was  indifferent  as  to  whether  his  friends  knew  of  his 
fate  or  not.  He  was  enjoying  the  only  absolute  and 
unquestioned  dominion  a  man  ever  has  in  this  democratic 
world — rthe  dominion  of  the  convalescent.  He  had  almost 
forgotten  his  lady  mother  lately,  and  the  grim  terrors  of 
an  infringement  of  the  Draconian  statutes  regarding 
respectable  connections  no  longer  troubled  him.  Old 
Joe  went  his  daily  way  to  his  shaft,  and  the  demure  girl, 
who  sat  at  the  fire  and  occupied  herself  with  the  endless 
stitching  of  her  sex,  was  his  physician  in  more  senses 
than  one.  Sometimes,  as  he  watched  her,  there  was  the 
old  merry  twinkle  in  his  eye,  and  a  sly  smile  dawned  in 
his  face.  Perhaps  he  was  thinking  of  the  handkerchief 
she  had  in  a  manner  stolen  from  him,  and  the  other  less 
useful,  but  far  better  things,  she  had  lately  given  him  in 
return. 

But  he  talked  to  her,  and  was  rewarded  by  the  interest 
with  which  she  listened  to  the  strange  facts  he  related. 
And  then  he  feigned  the  sulks,  and  grew  tyrannical,  and 
declared  that  unless  she  came  near,  nay,  even  sat  upon 


JOB'S  POCKET.  161 

the  bedside,  he  would  never  speak  more.  Once,  when 
he  had  her  there,  he  told  her  of  his  far-away  home,  and 
of  his  mother  and  sisters,  and  then  entered  largely  into 
the  subject,  and  described  even  more  clearly  than  her 
father  ever  had  the  characteristics  of  the  two  great  races 
of  which  she  was  the  descendant. 

And  in  the  earliest  days  of  spring  he  walked  about  the 
village,  much  interested,  apparently,  in  the  life  of  the 
mines.  He  went  with  the  girl  to  his  last  camp,  and 
looked  with  curious  eyes  at  the  ashes.  And  they  two 
sat  down  together  at  the  arching  rock,  and  her  face 
flushed,  and  her  bright  eyes  sparkles!  with  pitying  tears 
as  he  told  her  of  the  nights  in  the  snow.  No  wonder 
that  he  became  to  her  the  grand  monarch  of  all  thoughts, 
and  the  chief  end  of  life.  The  world  of  the  mountains 
became  beautiful  even  to  her  accustomed  eyes  since  he 
was  there.  And  as  for  him — well,  he  had  made  up  his 
mind. 

One  day  he  followed  Joe  to  his  hole  in  the  hill-side. 
They  sat  together  upon  a  log  at  the  mouth  of  the  shaft. 
"  My  friend,"  said  he,  "  I  must  go  back  to  the  post ;  will 
you  lend  me  that  mule  ?  " 

"  Well,  now — psho,"  said  Joe,  '*  ye  needn't  hurry.  Be- 
sides, ye  can't  find  the  way  'thout  I  go,  an'  I  haint  got 
time." 

"  I'll  find  a  guide,  Joe.     Will  you  lend  me  the  mule?" 

"  Y-e-s,  of  course,"  says  Joe ;  "  but,"  he  added,  with  a 
sly  twinkle  in  his  eye,  "  how'll  I  git  the  animil  ag'in  ? " 

"  I  will  bring  it  to  you." 

"  An'  come  back  ag'iu  yerself  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

The  old  man  looked  at  the  younger  keenly  and  inquir- 
ingly. He  was  peculiar  in  the  respect  that  all  his  kind 


162  JOE'S  POCKET. 

are,  and  cared  no  whit  for  his  own  or  any  man's  dignity. 
So,  between  two  who  understood  each  other  thoroughly, 
the  conversation  went  on. 

"  What  would  you  come  back  here  ag'in  for  ?  " 

"For  your  daughter  !  " 

"  Don't  ye  do  it,  n'less  ye  come  squar  an'  fair — I  advise 
ye  now.  I  like  ye,  young  man ;  I  saved  yer  life,  an'  I  'd 
do  it  ag'in.  But  ef  ye  've  used  what  I  give  ye  for  any 
purpus  or  fancy  as  is  n't  squar  between  my  folks  an' 
your'n,  if'ud  a  been  better  for  ye  never  to  come  out'n 
the  snow-pile." 

"  I  tell  you  I  will  come  again,  and  that  I  am  an  honest 
man,  and  a  grateful  one.  What  I  say  I  mean,  and  I  will 
perform  it,  and  that  is  all  I  have  to  say,"  and  he  arose  to 
go  away. 

"Hold  on,  youngster,"  cried  Joe.  "  I  knowed  it,  but  I 
wanted  to  make  sartin.  Bless  yon,  I  aint  blind!" 

"  Does  she  know  it — have  you  said  anything  to  her  ?  " 
he  continued  in  a  lower  voice." 

«  Well,— yes." 

"  Come  wi'  me,  I  want  to  show  ye  suthin'  party,"  and 
the  miner  laid  hold  of  the  young  man's  arm,  and  started 
back  toward  the  cabin.  When  they  reached  there  he  lit 
the  greasy  implement  contrived  to  do  duty  as  a  lamp, 
and  crept  under  the  rude  bedstead.  "  Come  on,"  he 
cried,  from  unknown  depths,  and  the  soldier  crept  after 
him  and  found  himself  in  a  kind  of  cellar,  the  earthen 
roof  of  which  was  propped  by  cedar  beams,  for  the  cabin 
had  no  floor  but  earth.  "  This  is  whar  I  lived  afore  I 
built  the  cabin  on  top,"  said  he.  "I  've  been  poor  all 
my  life,  an'  now  the  luck  has  turned  at  last.  This  is 
whar  I  keep  the  stuff."  Then  he  threw  aside  sundry 
old  blankets,  gunny-sacks  and  dried  skins,  and  disclosed 


JOE'S  POCKET.  163" 

some  half  dozen  old  fruit-cans,  three  or  four  large  glass 
jars,  such  as  are  used  in  packing  relishes,  and  some  small 
sacks  made  of  skin.  He  took  up  a  quart  jerkin-bottle, 
and  as  he  held  it  to  the  smoky  light,  the  dull  yellow 
gleam  of  the  crude  gold  showed  it  to  be  full.  Then  he 
opened  a  can,  which  held  the  same  yellow  hoard.  They 
were  all  full.  There,  before  his  eyes,  the  soldier  saw 
many  thousands  of  dollars.  Then  the  old  man  sat  down 
upon  a  broken  box,  and  eyed  his  treasure,  and  talked. 
He  told  how  he  had  run  away  from  whiskey  and  a  cross 
woman,  and  coming  to  this  spot,  thought  he  detected 
"  signs."  He  made  a  dug-out,  and  killed  game  for  food, 
and  opened  a  drift  into  the  hill-side.  He  struck  a  "  lead," 
a  rich  one — and  then  unexpectedly  came  upon  a  "pocket." 
He  was  stricken  with  fear,  as  men  generally  are  under 
such  circumstances,  and  for  a  month  did  not  even  tell  his 
daughter.  Day  after  day  he  took  out  the  veined  and 
crumbling  quartz,  sometimes  almost  pure  gold.  He 
crushed  it  in  a  hand-mortar,  and  subjected  it  to  the  rude 
chemistry  of  the  mountains,  with  instruments  of  his 
own  contriving,  and  at  night.  Then  he  needed  help, 
and  took  his  daughter  into  the  secret.  Finally  he  in- 
duced some  wandering  miners  to  settle  in  his  neighbor- 
hood for  the  sake  of  company  and  protection.  They 
had  all  been  successful  to  some  extent,  but  none  of  them 
knew  his  secret.  Then  he  made  the  startling  announce- 
ment that  he  had  once  been  back  to  the  post,  and  that  it 
was  only  sixty  miles  away  by  his  trail.  When  asked 
with  astonishment  what  he  had  gone  for,  he  simply  said 
"  quicksilver,"  and  told  how  his  daughter  had  stayed 
"  cached"  in  the  mountains  during  the  five  days  of  his 
absence.  As  h£  told  this  astonishing  story  with  the  evi- 
dences of  its  truth  before  him,  the  soldier  wondered  if 


164  JOE'S  POCKET. 

this  was  not  Aladdin,  or  if  ho  dreamed.  "  Now  young- 
ster," said  he  in  conclusion,  "  I've  told  ye  this,  so  that 
the  arrangement  need  n't  be  one-sided.  I  tell  it  to  ye 
because  ye're  honest.  The  pocket  is  petered,  an'  it  ain't 
much,  but  my  lead  is  worth  more  thousands  than  I'm 
williri5  jist  now  to  lay  myself  out  on.  I'm  gettin'  old, 
an'  am  a  goin'  to  quit."  They  climbed  the  ladder  and 
again  emerged  into  the  air.  As  they  stood  in  the  sun- 
light, it  seemed  more  than  ever  a  dream. 

But  to  the  old  miner  must  necessarily  come  some  relief 
after  earnest  discourse.  He  turned  away  at  the  door, 
and  as  he  departed,  looked  back  and  said :  "  Ye  kin  hev 
the  jackass  an'  be  d — d  to  ye.  I  only  said  it  to  try  ye." 

The  night  passed  to  the  lieutenant  a  wakeful  dream.  He 
had  unconsciously  lighted  upon  a  wonder,  and  through 
the  moon-lit  hours  he  tossed,  questioning  if  morning 
would  find  all  those  jars  of  yellow  metal  real  things. 
"The  wealth  of  this  poor  girl  of  the  mountains  exceeded 
ihe  most  extravagant  dreams  of  moneyed  respectability, 
but  did  it  alter  the  case  ?  Aside  from  it  all,  was  he  con- 
tent to  forego  all  there  was  in  the  world  he  had  left  for 
her?  A  week  ago  he  had  deliberately  concluded  upon 
his  course,  and  he  was  astonished  to  find  himself  ques- 
tioning his  heart  now. 

In  the  morning  the  donkey  stood  at  the  door,  accom- 
panied by  a  companion.  The  lieutenant  was  assured 
that  the  miner,  who  was  to  accompany  him  would  not 
lead  him  astray,  and  as  he  started  out,  the  girl  stood  in 
the  door,  shading  her  eyes  with  her  hand,  and  pleasure 
and  regret  striving  for  the  mastery  in  her  face.  She 
knew  he  would  return.  He  had  found  time  and  means 
to  tell  her  that,  and  woman-like,  she  bejieved  him.  In 
truth  she  did  not  see  why  he  should  not,  under  the  cir- 


JOE'S  POCKET.  165- 

cumstances.  A  young  woman  need  not  be  expected  to 
understand  the  mysteries  of  a  life  she  has  never  known. 

They  met  the  old  man  in  the  path.  He  had  not  much 
to  say,  but  as  they  passed  on,  he  shouted  after  them; 
"When  you  come  bring  me  some  quicksilver."  The 
whole  affair  was  to  him  mere  matter  of  fact. 

For  two  days  they  plodded  steadily  on,  the  soldier  pay- 
ing little  heed  to  the  road,  and  absorbed  in  his  own 
thoughts,  following  in  the  trail  of  his  leader.  On  the 
morning  of  the  third  day  he  caught  sight  of  the  floating 
banner  on  the  flag-staff,  and  the  sight  gave  him  a  choking 
sensation.  When  he  alighted  at  his  quarters  they  were 
occupied  by  another,  and  the  whole  garrison  from  the 
commandant  down,  gathered  round  him,  and  looked  at 
him  as  one  risen  from  the  dead.  H.e  briefly  told  them 
his  story,  saying  nothing  of  the  personality  of  his  rescu- 
ers. He  learned  then  that  his  companions  had  not 
returned.  But  he  had  grown  accustomed  to  startling 
things,  and  was  not  surprised.  He  had  been  dropped 
from  the  rolls,  and  his  military  record  closed,  as  one 
dead.  Even  that  failed  to  shock  him.  That  night 
the  commandant  received  a  communication,  addressed 
through  him  to  the  Secretary  of  War,  tendering  Lieu- 
tenant Thurston's  unconditional  resignation,  and  at  the 
end  was  the  startling  declaration,  that  after  so  long  an 
absence  he  had  returned  to  the  post  only  to  perform  the- 
act  necessary  to  a  soldier's  honor. 

That  night  he  locked  his  door  and  read  his  letters. 
There  was  one  from  his  mother,  and  two  or  three  from 
female  friends.  He  read  the  delicate  lines,  and  the  faint 
perfume  of  home  touched  his  senses.  But  he  laid  them 
on  the  fire,  and  moodily  watched  them  turn  to  ashes. 
Probably  they  were  never  answered.  - 


166  JOB'S  POCKET. 

Four  slow  weeks  went  by,  and  the  communication 
came  which  ended  forever  his  military  career.  He  car- 
ried it  to  his  quarters  and  locked  himself  in,  and  tried 
to  realize  his  situation.  He  had  been  lost  in  the  moun- 
tains; he  had  looked  frozen  death  in  the  face  in  the 
snow-drift.  In  a  few  weeks  he  had  tasted  nearly  all 
there  is  in  life.  But  through  it  all  there  was  no  moment 
so  full  of  regret  as  this. 

Then,  at  the  trader's  store  there  was  the  busy  outfitting 
of  a  train  of  mules  with  all  things  necessary  in  a  moun- 
tain life,  and  clad  in  homely  gray,  with  slouched  hat  and 
spurred  heel,  citizen  Thurston  directed  the  enterprise. 
To  the  last  he  told  no  tales,  and  as  the  tinkling  procession 
passed  the  ruined  cabin  which  had  always  been  known 
as  "Joe's  house,"  the  blue-clad  throng  looked  their  last 
upon  a  man  who  had  once  been  one  of  them,  and  who 
at  that  moment  passed  out  of  their  world  forever. 

There  is  a  certain  town  on  the  far  Pacific  coast  which 
has  grown  up  in  late  years  with  the  strange  strength 
which  is  born  of  traffic  in  a  hitherto  almost  unknown 
country.  There  is  an  elegant  mansion  there,  and  its 
proprietor  is  reputed  to  be  immensely  rich.  Within  are 
luxurious  carpets,  and  shining  wood,  and  plate  glass. 
The  oranges  ripen  in  the  yard,  and  rare  flowers  bloom 
on  the  terrace.  He  is  a  scholar,  too,  and  a  man  not 
alone  of  luxurious  tastes,  but  of  extensive  attainments. 
But  he  is  mostly  envied  because  he  has  a  beautiful  wife. 
The  curious  people  who  have  scrutinized  her  elegant 
apparel  have  also  noticed  that  she  speaks  English  with 
a  little  lisp,  and  apparently  regards  her  husband  in  the 
light  of  a  demi-god.  But  they  little  know  how  the  lady 
has  changed  under  the  tireless  lessons  of  love,  and  how 
the  r^intain  nymph  became  at  last  the  cultivated  woman. 


JOB'S  POCKET.  167 

And  the  man  who  sometimes  thoughtfully  looks  at  the 
old  sword  and  crimson  sash,  which  hang  somewhat  out 
of  place  over  the  mantel-piece,  himself  scarcely  realizes 
how  much  he  has  accomplished,  and  how  far  in  the  past 
and  valueless,  is  the  respectability  which  comes  by  birth 
and  education,  compared  with  that  which  by  faithfulness 
end  honor,  and  sometimes  through  danger  and  suffering, 
a  man  may  make  for  himself. 


WOMAN    UNDER   DIFFICULTIES. 


embodiment  of  beauty,  gracefulness  and  kind- 
ness, who  is  at  once  our  ideal  and  our  possession,. 
fills  daily  our  sole  conception,  our  full  measure  of  belief, 
as  to  what  a  woman  ought  to  be,  and  is.  Surrounded  by 
all  the  appliances,  traditions  and  results  of  many  hundred 
years  of  civilization,  it  is  hard  for  us  to  conceive  of  any 
creature  worthy  of  the  blessing  of  love  or  the  dignity  of 
motherhood,  other  than  our  own  mothers,  wives  and 
sisters. 

But  no  creature  is  so  entirely  susceptible  to  surround- 
ing influences,  to  the  strong  teachings  of  nature,  wildness 
and  loneliness,  to  rough  associations  and  uncouth  com- 
panions, yet  still  preserving  the  great  distinctive  char- 
acteristics which  belong  to  sex  rather  than  to  race,  as  is 
woman.  The  women  we  know  and  daily  see,  whom  it  is 
a  part  of  our  religion  to  respect,  and  a  part  of  our  life  to 
love,  are  only  typical  women  —  specimens  of  the  grade  of 
beauty  and  refinement  attainable  under  the  highest  form 
of  civilization.  There  are  thousands  of  others,  worthy 
and  womanly  in  their  way,  who  are  not  as  these.  Nay, 
our  ideals  are  scarcely  even  in  the  majority. 

There  are  many  rough  and  honest  men,  whose  faces 
are  brown  and  bearded,  and  whose  hands  are  hard  with 
toil,  who  have  never  even  seen  the  creatures  whose  white 
shoulders  gleam  through  tulle,  whose  footsteps  patter  on 
errands  of  extravagance  over  every  paved  street,  and 
whose  fair  faces  bloom  in  rows  at  the  theatre.  There  are 
many  men  in  whose  early  recollections  are  not  included 


WOMAN   UNDER   DIFFICULTIES.  169 

the  ineffably  genteel  "  swish"  of  the  matronly  silk,  as  it 
passed  up  the  church- aisle  of  a  Sunday  morning,  in  the 
decorous  company  of  fair  broadcloth  and  a  gold-headed 
cane.  To  him,  the  being  who  blushes  at  the  mere  in- 
sinuation of  an  indelicacy,  whose  hair  is  indeed  a  "glory/3 
whose  palms  are  pink,  whose  garments  are  a  triumph, 
whose  movements  are  tempered  with  gracefulness,  and 
whose  very  words  are  the  result  of  culture,  is  one  so  far 
from  his  life  that  he  would  scarcely  picture  her  in  his 
imaginings  of  angels. 

But  he  has  his  companion,  like  him,  and  eminently 
suited  to  him.  In  his  home,  and  his  wanderings  through- 
out the  frontier,  he  needs  no  other.  Neighbor  she  has 
none.  Crowded  street,  the  jam  and  jostle  of  the  pave- 
ment, she  knows  nothing  of.  Her  amusements  are  lonely, 
her  occupations  masculine  and  homely.  All  she  has,  and 
most  that  she  hopes  for,  are  included  in  the  dull  routine 
of  one  room,  one  hearth,  one  changeless  scene.  Life  to 
her  is  the  rising  and  the  setting  sun,  the  changing  sea- 
sons, the  cloud,  the  wind,  and  the  falling  rain.  She 
knows  the  tricks  of  horses,  the  straying  of  the  herd,  and 
all  the  economy  of  the  corral.  Business  to  her  is  the 
small  traffic  of  the  trading-post.  Strangers  are  those  who 
occupy  the  white-tilted  wagons  which  she  sees  come  and 
go  on  the  far  horizon.  Friends  are  all  who  have  white 
faces  and  Christian  names,  and  enemies  those  whose 
faces  she  seldom  sees,  and  who  are  the  wily  and  inveterate 
foes  of  all  her  race.  Of  such  as  these,  the  denizens  of 
cities  know  but  little,  and  they  deserve  a  history  from 
their  very  isolation. 

Wherever  the  frontiersman  has  occupied  a  place  in 
Western  annals,  his  wife  has  stood  in  the  background. 
The  women  of  the  Plains,  of  Colorado,  of  Arkansas  and 
12 


170  WOMAN   UNDER   DIFFICULTIES. 

of  Texas  are  of  the  same  genus  with  the  pioneer  women 
of  the  Wabash  and  Missouri,  only  of  a  more  modern 
stamp.  All  of  them  differ  in  character  from  the  "piney- 
woods"  maiden,  whose  life,  appearance  and  general  char- 
acter became  much  better  known  to  us  through  the  vera- 
cious narratives  of  Sherman's  "  bummers."  But  men 
who  write  of  buffalo-laud,  who  wind  off  narratives  of 
Western  life  for  trans-continental  newspapers  and  mag- 
azines, or  who  verbally  detail  to  a  knot  of  listeners  their 
Othello-like  adventures,  have  little  to  say  of  the  daughters 
of  the  wilderness.  The  sun-burned  and  slip-shod  woman 
who  hunts  cows  in  the  creek  "  bottoms"  upon  a  bare- 
backed mustang,  who  folds  her  brown  hands  behind  her 
at  the  cabin-door,  and  in  a  shrill  voice  gossips  with  the 
passing  stranger,  and  whose  careless  cookery  furnishes 
forth  a  bill-of-fare  as  changeless  as  time,  does  not  figure 
largely  in  the  romance  and  the  adventure  of  the  frontier. 
Why  should  she  ?  Her  precise  pattern  in  these  respects 
still  lingers  amid  encroaching  fields,  in  the  ague-haunted 
fens  of  the  Wabash,  and  in  the  sand  of  the  Missouri  bot- 
toms. But  there  are  other  and  more  remarkable  char- 
acteristics pertaining  to  the  woman  of  the  Far  West. 
She  is  there  not  from  indolence,  but  necessity.  Her  sur- 
roundings are  not  a  choice,  but  a  misfortune.  Indolence 
and  innate  untidiness  are  not  the  causes  of  her  poor  larder 
and  her  comfortless  home.  There  is  no  broad  line  drawn 
between  her  and  thrifty  and  prosperous  neighbors.  For 
hundreds  of  miles,  there  are  no  better  homes  than  hers, 
and  with  a  patience  which  might  have  a  touch  of  sublimity 
were  it  not  so  nearly  unconscious,  she  waits  for  better 
things.  And  when  those  better  things  come,  if  they  ever 
should;  when  population  and  prosperity  encroach  too 
near,  then,  following  the  instinct  of  migration,  for  God's 


WOMAN   UNDER   DIFFICULTIES.  171 

purposes  are  as  strong  in  humanity  as  in  the  beasts,  she 
and  her  husband  would  move  again.  The  grotesque 
procession  of  lean  and  weary  cows,  multitudinous  and 
currish  dogs,  rough  men,  barefoot  girls,  and  lastly  the 
dilapidated  wagon,  with  its  household  goods,  wends 
never  eastward. 

The  sod-house  of  far  Western  Kansas,  the  cabin  of 
Texas,  and  the  adobe  of  Colorado,  are  not  all  so  fortu- 
nate as  to  have  a  female  occupant.  The  fact  is  pro- 
claimed by  an  essential  difference  in  appearance  afar  off. 
There  never  was  yet  a  lonesome  borderer  who  planted  a 
vine,  or  draped  a  window,  or  swept  the  narrow  path  in 
front  of  his  door.  The  virtues  of  good  housewifery  are, 
in  a  greater  or  less  degree,  the  natural  qualifications  of 
every  woman.  In  many  a  wilderness  nook,  the  bloom- 
ing plant  which  is  cherished  beside  the  door,  the  drapery 
of  the  one  small  window,  the  clean-swept  hearth,  the 
row  of  shining  tins,  and  the  small  evidences  of  needle- 
and-thread  proclaim  that  however  poor  the  place  may  be, 
if  it  hold  a  woman,  her  hand  will  still  find  something  to 
"do  in  the  way  of  adornment. 

There  is  nothing  strange  in  the  fact  that  the  Indian 
squaw  is  always  a  slave.  But  the  savage  goes  but  little 
farther  in  that  direction  than  his  enemy,  the  frontiers- 
man. In  all  times,  races  and  circumstances,  in  which 
crudity  and  toil  preponderate  over  ease  and  refinement, 
woman  bears  the  burden  of  the  misfortune.  But  the 
rule  of  compensation  exists  everywhere.  The  sun  and 
the  wind  are  kinder  than  are  late  hours  and  furnace- 
heated  chambers.  The  slavery  of  the  field  is  infinitely 
more  conducive  to  strength  and  happiness  than  the 
slavery  of  the  corset  and  high-heeled  shoe.  Maternity 
is  n'ot  a  terror  and  a  peril  to  the  woman  of  the  border. 


172  WOMAN    UNDER    DIFFICULTIES. 

Life,  with  all  its  hardship  and  isolation,  gives  to  her  at 
least  all  it  has  to  give.  The  days  may  be  days  of  toil, 
but  the  noon  brings  its  hunger  and  health,  and  the  night 
its  deep  sleep  of  rest  and  peace.  That  wearying  round 
of  ceremony,  that  daily  attendance  upon  the  mirror  and 
weekly  investigation  of  the  fashion-plates,  that  thought 
of  Mrs.  Smith's  bonnet,  and  Mrs.  Brown's  children,  and 
the  bank-account  and  the  milliners  prices, — all  the  un- 
seen and  untalked-of,  yet  wearisome  and  monotonous 
burdens  of  fashionable,  even  civilized  life,  are  here  un- 
known. And  the  compensation  is  great.  Untrammelled 
by  stays  and  ceremonies,  the  border-woman  has  what  few 
of  her  race  but  she  entirely  possess,  health.  Not  a 
fictitious  and  deceptive  rosiness  of  cheek  and  graceful- 
ness of  carriage,  not  whiteness  of  hands  and  willowy 
slenderness  of  waist,  but  coarse,  awkward,  brawny  health. 
The  women  who,  all  over  the  Eastern  United  States,  are 
the  chief  adornment  of  beautiful  homes,  and  are  the 
wives  and  daughters  of  Christian  gentlemen,  who  cause 
mankind  to  forget  Eden  and  Eve,  and  scarcely  to  remem- 
ber the  fall,  and  who  are  the  mothers  of  daughters  who 
are  as  brilliant  as  June  roses,  and  who  fade  like  them, 
and  sons  who  are  men  at  twenty  and  very  old  at  forty, 
are  not  expected  to  credit  all  this,  or  to  have  the  slightest 
desire  for  an  exchange  of  circumstances,  which  to  them 
would  be  impossible.  The  facts  are  only  mentioned  to 
show  that  the  pity  for  those  who  live  thus  is  often  mis- 
placed, and  that  there  is  no  circumstantial  misfortune 
which  has  not  also  its  reward. 

I  know  of  no  female  inhabiting  the  border  wilderness 
of  our  country  who  has  not  some  of  the  refinement  which 
belongs  rather  to  sex  than  to  race,  except  the  Indian 
squaw.  A  woman  whose  face  bears  any  evidence  of  a 


WOMAN    UNDER    DIFFICULTIES.  173 

relationship  with  any  of  the  dominant  races  of  the  world, 
has  something  about  her  wherever  you  find  her  which  is 
womanly  and  attractive.  The  borderer's  wife  does  not 
swear,  nor  chew  tobacco,  nor  offer  any  suggestion  of  im- 
modesty in  action  or  word.  The  face  is  not  more  coarse 
or  more  incapable  of  that  surging  rosiness  which  explains 
the  subtle  connection  between  the  sensibilities  and  the 
circulation,  than  is  the  tattling  index  to  a  woman's  heart 
the  world  over.  But  if  I  might  be  allowed  to  coin  the 
expression,  I  would  say  that  the  standard  of  delicacy  by 
which  the  -border-woman's  sensibilities  were  governed 
was  a  different  and  broader  one  than  that  in  common 
use.  She  associates  with  men,  and  very  coarse  ones. 
She  is  intimately  acquainted  with  and  interested  in  all 
their  affairs.  She  is  accustomed  to  wildness  and  danger, 
and  learns  to  be  strong  of  hand  and  nerve,  and  to  be 
cool  in  sudden  emergencies.  It  may  be  put  down  to  her 
credit  that  while  she  will  run  if  she  can,  she  will  fight  if 
she  must.  But  there  are  no  circumstances  which,  even 
by  long  habit,  can  divest  a  woman  of  her  essential  fem- 
inineness.  I  have  been  amused  to  note  that  a  woman 
who  was  complete  mistress  of  a  recalcitrant  mustang,  and 
every  day  brought  him  under  subjection  by  a  no  means 
dainty  application  of  the  end  of  his  lariat,  and  who  ruled 
with  a  high  hand  all  the  denizens  of  the  corral,  would 
utter  the  little  cry  of  her  sex  and  ingloriously  retreat  at 
the  sight  of  one  of  the  harmless  lizards  which  infest  the 
prairie-paths  of  the  south-west. 

In  society,  women  dress  for  women ;  in  certain  other 
walks  in  life,  they  dress  for  men ;  and  left  alone,  they 
dress  for  themselves.  The  story  of  the  first  garment  ever 
made  out  of  the  new  world's  fresh  green  leaves  tells  only 
a  part  of  the  story.  Here  on  the  border,  the  old  business 


174  WOMAN   UNDER   DIFFICULTIES. 

of  the  sex,  to  look  pretty,  receives  as  much  attention  a& 
it  does  anywhere.  There  is  not  much  choice  of  material  r 
— calico  is  the  article.  Valenciennes  and  Mechlin,  and 
all  the  cunning  variations  in  name  and  material  which 
make  up  the  lexicon  of  the  modern  dry-goods  clerk,  even 
the  cant  about  "  chaste"  colors  and  "  pretty"  styles,  are 
utterly  unknown  to  the  belle  of  the  border.  As  she  tilts 
back  in  a  hide-bottomed  chair  like  a  man,  it  is  easy  to . 
perceive  that  feet  which.are  not  always  coarse  are  encased 
in  brogans,  constructed  with  a  special  view  to  the  rough- 
ness of  wayside  stones,  the  penetrating  qualities  of  early 
dew,  and  the  gravity  and  persuasiveness  of  kicks  admin- 
istered by  them.  The  neck,  sunburned,  but  not  always 
wanting  in  due  proportion  and  natural  whiteness,  is 
ignorant  of  collar  or  confinement.  Waist  and  limb  are 
unconfined  by  any  of  the  devices  which  are  supposed  to 
be  so  necessary  to  style,  and  the  hair,  combed  straight 
and  smooth,  is  twisted  into  a  tight  little  knot  behind,, 
which,  as  compared  with  the  enormous  mysteries  which 
for  these  many  years  have  been  carried  about  beneath 
the. hats  of  fashionable  women,  remind  one  of  the  knob 
on  an  old-fashioned  bureau  drawer.  In  a  frontier  toilet,, 
there  is  a  lack  of  the  two  essentials  of  starch  and  white- 
ness. Cleanliness  there  is  to  be  sure,  but  it  is  a  clean- 
liness of  material  and  fact,  and  fails  in  any  suggestion  of 
daintiness.  It  is  upon  the  calico  mentioned  that  the 
efforts  of  taste  are  mostly  expended.  There  are  ruffles 
there,  and  bias  stripes,  and  flounces,  and  a  hundred  pretty 
and  fantastic  devices  which  it  is  beyond  masculine  tech- 
nology to  describe.  Yet  there  are  no  prescribed  fashions 
for  these  vagaries  in  dress.  Each  woman  expends  her 
ingenuity  according  to  her  ideas  of  beauty.  The  style 
of  a  calico  gown  may  seem  a  small  item  in  describing 


WOMAN   UNDER   DIFFICULTIES.  175 

the  characteristics  of  a  class,  but  the  adornment  is  so 
universal  that  it  becomes  a  feature.  It  is  infinitely  to 
her  credit  too,  being  the  evidence  that  barbarism  is  not 
the  result  of  hopeless  seclusion,  and  that  taste  and  care 
will  hold  a  place  in  the  hearts  and  efforts  of  woman  in 
her  struggle  with  wildness,  until  that  time  shall  come  in 
which  civilization  shall  complete  her  task. 

If  anything  said  thus  far  would  lead  to  the  impression 
that  comeliness,  not  to  say  beauty,  is  impossible  with  the 
women  of  the  border,  the  impression  needs  correction. 
Under  the  severest  tests,  the  frontier  has  a  comeliness  of 
its  own.  It  is  not  the  paltry  prettiness  of  gait  and  man- 
ner; not  the  charm  of  suave  words  and  cultured  address. 
These  make  us  imagine  beauty,  indeed,  where  there  is 
none,  and  procure  gentle  thoughts  and  husbands  where 
there  is  nothing  else  to  recommend.  Frontier  charms, 
where  they  exist  at  all,  make  models  of  stalwart,  un- 
trained grace.  Health  itself  is  beauty,  and  that  unfash- 
ionable kind  is  common  enough.  It  were  well  if  abso- 
lute ugliness  everywhere  were  the  result  only  of  hardship 
and  decay,  and  on  the  frontier  it  is  pleasant  to  think  that 
youth  seldom  wants  its  round  curves  and  its  crimson 
glow.  There  are  women  here  whose  hair  falls  in  trouble- 
some abundance  and  will  not  be  confined ;  whose  cheeks, 
if  they  could  but  know  the  absence  of  the  caresses  of  the 
sunbeams  and  the  boisterous  kisses  of  the  wind,  would 
show  the  clearest  white  and  the  bonniest  bloom.  There 
are  limbs  which  shuffle  slip-shod  along  trails  in  search 
of  lost  animals,  of  whose  round  strength  the  owner  has 
little  thought,  and  arms  which  split  firewood  and  bring 
water  from  the  spring  whose  whiteness  and  mould  would 
fit  them  rather  for  the  adornment  of  golden  clasps  and 
folds  of  ancient  lace.  To  see  these  women  is  to  know 


176  WOMAN    UNDER   DIFFICULTIES. 

that  the  old-time  talk  about  "  unconscious  beauty "  is  a 
fallacy.  The  consciousness  of  beauty,  and  due  appre- 
ciation and  use  of  it,  is  its  great  aid  in  the  absolute  en- 
slavement of  mankind. 

For  so  long  have  womankind  been  accused  of  an 
inborn  love  of  gossip,  that  mankind,  in  their  haste  to 
accept  ill-natured  doctrines,  are  ever  ready  to  concede  the 
truth  of  the  statement  that  she  can  not  exist  without  it. 
I  am  satisfied  that  in  some  sort  of  poor  way  she  can 
manage  to  get  along  without  a  next-door  neighbor.  It 
is  stranger  still,  that  when  by  an  extraordinary  chance 
the  cabins  of  two  neighbors  are  in  sight  of  each  other, 
the  fact  seldom  adds  anything  to  the  mutual  happiness 
of  the  female  occupants.  Do  they  often  see  each  other— 
do  they  waste  kisses  when  they  meet — are  they  insepara- 
ble friends?  There  is  not  a  surplus  of  any  of  these 
things.  Two  women,  here  as  elsewhere,  with  no  third 
or  fourth  party  to  divert  attention,  are  not  apt  to  love 
each  other  with  fervor.  What  is  better,  they  do  not 
pretend  to.  But  neighborship  bears  a  broad  meaning  in 
these  regions.  The  chronicle  of  Brown's  wife's  affairs 
is  reasonably  well  kept  by  Thompson's  wife,  who  lives 
from  twenty  to  fifty  miles  away.  All  this  without  any 
facilities  for  what  is  usually  termed  gossip.  The  way- 
farer who  has  lost  a  pony,  or  who  wanders  in  search  of 
straying  cattle,  is  the  disseminator  of  the  most  valuable 
items  of  neighborhood  news.  As  he  sits  on  his  horse  in 
front  of  the  door,  with  his  knee  upon  the  pommel  and 
his  chin  in  his  palm,  he  relates  how  he  has  "  heerd*'  so 
and  so.  And  in  return,  the  dame  delightedly  tells  of 
her  own  affairs,  the  "  old  man's"  luck,  the  measles,  the 
"  new  folks,"  and  always  ends  with,  "  tell  Mis'  Jones  to 
come  over."  These  things,  and  much  more,  the  simple 


WOMAN    UNDEE   DIFFICULTIES.  177 

cow-hunter  tells  to  "  Mis'  Jones."  But  that  lady  does 
not  "  come  over."  That  is  a  mere  form  gone  through 
with  for  politeness'  sake.  Sometimes  she  may,  but  not 
for  the  visit's  sake.  Here  as  elsewhere  there  are  myste- 
rious gatherings  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  and  the  cry 
of  infancy  is  heard  in  the  morning.  If  it  were  not  for 
their  babies,  these  curious  "  neighbors"  would  probably 
never  have  any  other  acquaintance  than  that  which  comes 
about  by  proxy. 

The  life  of  the  woman  of  the  border  takes  still  another 
coloring  from  the  fact  that  while  it  is  transient  it  is  still 
her  choice,  and  the  lot  to  which  she  was  born.  She  and 
her  male  companion  never  think  of  that  fact,  and  are 
themselves  unconscious  of  the  wandering  instinct  of  the 
class  to  which  they  belong.  If  they  were  placed  in  an 
Eden  they  would  not  wait  to  be  thrust  out  by  an  angel 
with  a  flaming  sword.  But  the  spot  they  leave  never 
again  returns  to  native  wildness.  While  there,  they  have 
accomplished  a  certain  purpose  as  the  forerunners  and 
videttes  of  civilization.  Their  home  is  the  wilderness, 
and  they  come  next  after  the  savage  as  occupants.  Slowly 
they  creep  up  the  valley  of  the  Arkansas,  already  almost 
too  tame  for  them.  The  twinkle  of  their  camp-fires,  and 
their  rude  homes,  dot  the  verge  of  wildness  in  Western 
Texas.  Past  the  Western  forts,  over  a  road  which 
stretches  like  a  path  through  hundreds  of  miles  of  bar- 
renness, they  straggle  towards  Arizona  and  far-off  Cali- 
fornia. Everywhere,  in  sheltered  nooks,  are  located  the 
rude  homes  where  they  have  stranded,  waiting  for  a 
return  of  the  migratory  determination.  Each  one  is  the 
centre  of  those  surroundings  and  appliances  which  are 
the  absolute  necessities  of  existence.  But  they  make  no 
better  homes.  They  did  not  come  to  stay,  and  as  they 


178  WOMAN    UNDER    DIFFICULTIES. 

repeat  the  old  story  of  "  a  better  country  beyond,"  they 
little  know  that,  with  a  different  meaning  and  in  another 
sense,  they  tell  not  only  their  own,  but  the  story  of  rest- 
less,  wandering,  longing  humanity  everywhere. 

Thus  does  woman  take  her  part  in  a  most  unexpected 
place  in  the  struggle  of  existence.  It  is  not  an  unim- 
portant one.  She  brings  into  the  world  a  constant  levy 
of  recruits,  to  be  trained  in  infancy  to  wandering,  if 
naught  else.  It  is  no  strange  statement  to  say  that 
without  her  the  final  accomplishment  of  the  end  for 
which  isolation,  wildness  and  poverty  are  endured,  could 
not  be  attained.  In  that  which  we  call  life,  she  occupies 
but  a  poor  place.  Her  character,  her  notions,  and  the 
incidents  of  her  daily  life  are  so  far  from  the  absorbing 
interests  which  occupy  the  denizens  of  the  great  world  of 
churches,  schools,  banks,  gas-light  and  society,  that  they 
are  scarcely  the  subjects  even  of  curiosity.  But  she  is 
still  a  woman,  and  a  specimen  of  the  capacities  of  her  sex 
in  the  exercise  of  that  virtue  which,  more  than  any  other 
that  is  characteristic  of  woman,  is  unmentioned  and  un- 
appreciated,— the  virtue  of  silent  endurance.  If  her 
hard  life  on  the  far  border  lacks  idyllic  interest,  and 
needs  to  cover  its  hard  outlines  with  the  purple  garment 
of  romance  and  poetry,  it  is  a  compensating  reflection 
that  with  its  unconscious  purpose  it  still  goes  on,  and 
that  with  the  carelessness  and  independence  of  all  her 
kind  she  reciprocates  the  indifference  of  the  world. 


THE     REUNION     OF     THE     GHOSTS. 

r  I  ^HE  place  had  certainly  nothing  attractive  about  it,. 
JL  for  it  was  only  a  dingy  chamber  within  adobe  walls. 
But  among  the  wild  hills,  it  indicated  humanity,  and 
human  feelings  and  associations.  Compared  with  the 
abounding  dreariness, — the  mountain,  rock  and  sage, — it 
seemed  a  cosy  and  pleasant  place.  So  would  anything, 
that  .but  shut  out  the  all-night  chatter  of  the  coyote,  or 
afforded  a  sense  of  sucurity  from  the  Apache.  Behind 
it,  down  the  slope,  straggled  the  single  squalid  narrow 
street  of  the  Mexican  village,  ragged  and  shadowy  in  the 
moonlight,  with  here  and  there  a  dull  glimmer  through 
an  open  door ;  now  and  then  a  lone  straggler  bent  on 
love  or  mischief;  and  oftenest  a  family  group,  snoring  in: 
the  sweet  repose  of  poverty  in  front  of  their  dwelling. 
Far  enough  away  to  express  a  want  of  sympathy  with  its 
associations,  stood  the  quadrangular  enclosure  whose 
white  walls  fairly  glittered  in  the  yellow  light,  and  above 
which  rose  the  slender  flag-staff  like  a  line  of  white 
against  the  blue  beyond.  The  two  small  guns  above  the 
arched  sally-port,  dutifully  polished  each  day,  repaid  the 
labor  by  a  metallic  and  warlike  gleam  each  night.  Below 
them  paced  back  and  forth,  erect,  soldierly,  and  silent 
as  the  ghost  of  Hamlet's  father,  the  sentinel,  whose 
weapon  glittered  as  he  turned,  as  only  bayonets  can  glitter, 
and  whose  measured  footfall  was  the  only  sound. 

Ten  o'clock  at  night  in  the  borders  of  the  tropics.  The 
cool  wind  of  the  Sierras  came  freshly  through  the  open 
door,  and  flared  and  guttered  the  candles  upon  the  rude 


180  THE   REUNION   OF   THE   GHOSTS. 

pine  table.  It  was  a  place  renowned  in  border  history, 
the  spot  around  which  cluster  (save  the  mark ! )  the  pleas- 
antest  recollections  of  the  frontiersman's  and  the  sol- 
dier's life, — the  sutler's  store  at  a  military  post.  The 
gregariousness  common  to  humanity  everywhere  finds 
opportunity  and  expression  there.  It  is  the  club-room  of 
the  wilderness.  It  is  half  store  and  half  hotel.  It  is  the 
rendezvous  of  the  mule-driver  and  the  mail-carrier,  and 
from  its  dingy  boxes  are  distributed  the  precious  letters 
from  home.  Hither,  too,  sometimes  comes  a  little  of  the 
month-old  news  from  the  world  two  thousand  miles 
away ;  the  beautiful  world  in  which  live  the  mother,  the 
brother  and  the  sweetheart,  from  whose  midsfc  went  the 
handsome  youth  with  a  blue  coat  and  a  sabre,  to  live 
thereafter  the  life  of  a  soldier,  and  to  find  his  happiest 
hours  iii  such  a  spot  as  this. 

Wherever  there  is  military  protection, — which  means 
also  military  authority, — republicanism  is  lost  sight  of, 
and  monarchy  begins.  Every  army  is  a  despotism,  and 
the  rule  it  lives  by  it  dispenses  to  others  naturally.  Here, 
on  everything  movable  and  immovable,  is  stamped  the 
gigantic  monogram,  U.  S.,  and  he  who  as  a  business 
wears  its  uniform  and  executes  its  orders,  is  frequently 
loved,  always  feared,  and  generally  dispenses  a  justice  so 
impartial,  and  a  punishment  so  swift,  that  it  is  a  credit  to 
the  flag  he  follows  and  the  mighty,  though  far-away,  power 
he  represents.  In  scenes  and  surroundings  such  as  this, 
have  been  learned  some  of  the  lessons  which  afterwards 
aided  in  the  command  of  mighty  armies,  and  made  lieu- 
tenant-generals and  presidents. 

Bat  if  in  duty  your  solder  is  faithful,  socially  ho  is  as 
gregarious  as  the  Mexican  who,  for  want  of  better  com- 
pany, is  long  since  asleep  with  his  asses  in  the  adjoining 


THE    REUNION    OF   THE    GHOSTS.  181 

corral.  There  are  five  of  them  here  to-night,  young  and 
old,  as  they  have  been  every  night  for  weeks,  and  accord- 
ing to  custom  and  dignity,  they  have  the  apartment  to 
themselves.  Casino  and  California- Jack  have  lost  their 
charms  from  sheer  monotony,  and  lounging  and  chatter- 
ing have  been  the  order  since  ten  o'clock.  The  blouse 
may  be  donned  and  "  duty  "  forgotten  at  "  tattoo;  "  but 
there  are  two  things  in  which  your  regular  is  never 
«  off," — to  swagger  when  he  is  up,  and  to  tell  yarns  when 
he  is  down.  The  army  officer's  strut  is  as  much  a  char- 
acteristic as  is  the  Tipperary  trot,  and  "  Captain  Jinks" 
is  not  entirely  a  myth.  These  men  were  all  lounging 
and  gossipping.  All  but  one ;  for,  like  the  Indian  at  the 
feast,  there  is  always  one  man  on  duty.  This  unfortunate 
individual  is  the  "  officer  of  the  day,"  and  he,  in  plumed 
hat  and  glittering  bullion,  wandered  about,  clanking  his 
sabre  against  the  furniture,  and  maliciously  congratulat- 
ing himself  that  Brown  must  suffer  to-morrow. 

These  men  had  nearly  all  a  military  history,  and  held 
their  commissions  from  the  fact  of  having,  like  the  great 
majority  of  American  soldiers,  taken  a  gallant  part  in  the 
gigantic  fact  of  war  before  they  had  seen  the  preparatory 
school.  There  was  a  grizzled  fellow  who  had  fought  on 
the  Peninsula  in  an  Italian  uniform,  and  had  in  his  trunk 
a  Victoria  medal.  Though  more  reticent  than  his  younger 
companions,  he  had  to-night,  for  two  entrancing  hours, 
told  of  Garibaldi  and  Victor  Emanuel,  Kearney  and 
McClellan,  and  ended  with  wishing  himself  in  Cuba  and 
anathemating  the  "  blarsted  country,"  after  the  fashion 
of  his  nation.  Then  followed  another,  whose  amours 
were  as  numerous  as  his  battles,  though  he  had  exchanged 
an  eagle  for  two  bars  from  mere  love  of  arms.  He 
descanted  upon  Spotteylvania  and  the  Wilderness,  and 


182  THE   REUNION   OF   THE   GHOSTS. 

longed  for  a  "  mixture  "  with  that  unhappy  old  country 
twenty  miles  to  the  southward,  across  whose  boundary- 
line  he  could  march  his  company  in  a  single  day.  There 
are  personal  incidents  of  a  great  war  which  never  find 
their  way  into  books,  and  as  these  old  soldiers  talked 
they  became  Othellos,  and  were  invested  with  that  pecu- 
liar charm  which  in  all  times  and  places  has  commanded 
listeners,  which  has  made  Desdemonas  of  women,  and 
turned  the  hearts  of  peaceful  men,  with  a  feeling  akin  to 
love,  to  the  emblems  and  associations  of  heroism  and 
danger  and  daring. 

There  were  two  men  there  who,  while  they  had  not 
the  tales  of  love  and  war  to  tell,  yet  were  unwilling  to 
let  the  conversation  flag.  "  Youngsters,"  in  the  army, 
accept  the  designation  with  complaisance,  not  having 
served  that  immense  number  of  years  which  are  necessary 
both  to  experience  and  the  drawing  of  a  longevity  ration. 
While  petted  in  the  main,  they  are  also  liable  to  whole- 
some lessons,  some  of  which  at  first  go  hard.  Inciden- 
tally and  innocently  one  of  these  turned  the  conversation 
upon  the  tabooed  subject  of  a  man's  personal  feelings 
midway  between  the  crest  of  a  long  hill  upon  the  top  of 
which  was  a  battery,  and  at  the  bottom  no  reserve,  and 
finally  ventured  a  remark  as  to  the  elements  and  char- 
acteristics of  personal  courage. 

The  old  man  listened  awhile  with  fast  augmenting 
impatience,  and  finally  rising  to  his  feet  and  bringing 
down  his  fist  upon  the  table  he  said :     "  Wait  till  you  get 
there  youngster,  and  you'll  find  there  is  no  such  thing  as . 
-courage." 

Charles  Henry  crossed  his  slender  legs,  and  looked 
with  polite  astonishment  at  his  interlocutor.  He  probably 
liad  not  expected  so  much  from  such  a  quarter.  "  You're 
joking,  Major,"  said  he. 


THE   REUNION   OP   THE    GHOSTS.  183 

"No,  I'm  not.  I've  never  said  so  much  before;  but 
having  an  interest  in  your  welfare  for  your  governor's 
sake,  I  want  to  say  to  you  that  if  you  think  it's  mere 
courage  that  wins  battles,  you  are  as  much  mistaken  as 
if  you  had  forgotten  to  *  soak'  your  month's  pay-account." 

The  man  of  Gettysburg,  across  the  table,  looked  as 
though  he  regretfully  assented,  and  Grizzly  went  on : 

"  I'm  not  saying  you'd  run, — few  men  ever  do.  But 
daylight  affords  no  test.  You  stay  there  because  men 
are  looking  at  you.  Try  it  in  the  d-a-r-k !  "  The  old 
soldier  uttered  the  last  word  in  a  stage  whisper,  by  way 
of  emphasis,  and  dropped  into  a  seat,  very  red  in  the  face. 

It  required  no  great  brilliancy  to  perceive  that  the 
theme  was  a  haunting  one  to  him,  and  that  he  had  some 
special  reason  for  urging  the  point,  though  silent  upon  it 
ever  before.  His  companion  across  the  table  kept  a  sug- 
gestive silence,  and  leaning  forward  with  extended  finger 
the  speaker  inquired : 

"  Is  not  that  so  ? " 

Gettysburg  nodded  his  head,  conclusively,  several 
times,  remarking,  "  You're  right,  old  man." 

Grizzly  gained  confidence  from  the  assent  of  his  friend, 
whom  he  had  known  in  the  same  brigade  in  Virginia, 
and  as  he  continued  to  speak,  the  said  assent  was  evi- 
dently his  encouragement  in  laying  himself  out  upon  a 
question  which  seemed  to  be  one  of  his  established, 
though  hitherto  silent,  beliefs. 

"I've  a  mind  to  tell  you  something,"  said  he  again, 
"  which  has  been  on  my  mind  for  years.  It  is  far  enough 
gone  now,  and  after  the  thing  is  out,  if  any  man  here 
can  explain  >t,  or  say  he  wouldn't  have  done  the  same, 
I'm  ready  to  resign.  There  are  things  which  happen  to 
a  man  once  or  twice  in  his  life  which  don't  belong  to  the 


184  THE    REUNION    OF   THE    GHOSTS. 

common  order.  I  could  scarcely  imagine  myself  caring 
much  about  them  if  they  could  be  seen,  but  they  come 
in  the  night.  What  can  a  man  depend  upon  when  he 
can't  see?  lie  can  feel,  that's  true;"  and  the  speaker 
held  out  his  right  hand  and  looked  at  the  palm  thereof 
with  a  critical  expression. 

"  Pve  worn  some  uniform  or  other  for  a  great  many 
years,"  he  continued,  "and  since  I  joined  this  miserable 
little  army  of  yours,  I've  had  less  to  complain  of  in  the 
way  of  fighting,  and  more  downright,  horse-killing  rest, 
than  I've  ever  been  used  to.  You  think  I  can't  stand  it 
long?  I  can,  though;  I  rather  like  it.  I'm  certain  I 
don't  want  any  more  Wildernesses  in  mine, — a  place,  by 
the  way,  you  needn't  talk  so  much  about,  [to  his  comrade 
across  the  table,]  seeing  several  thousand,  including  me, 
were  there  along  with  you. 

"  Speaking  of  the  Wilderness,  I  never  think  of  it  but 
it  reminds  me  of  the  peculiar — very  peculiar — circum- 
stance which  I  started  to  tell.  From  that  circumstance, 
I'm  convinced  of  the  truth  of  what  I  said  awhile  ago, 
when  you  all  thought  me  preaching ;  that  we  are  all, — 
denime,  I  should  think  I  ought  to  know, — all  cowards  in 
the  dark!  Heard  the  same  remark  before,  have  you 
youngster?  Yes.  Well,  wait  till  you' ve  tried  daylight, 
before  you  begin  to  quote  maxims  to  me,  I  didn't  pre- 
tend the  remark  was  original." 

Thus  snubbed,  C.  A.  soothed  his  feelings  with  a 
cigarette,  and  relapsed  into  silence. 

"  You  remember  the  pines  in  that  country, — thick  as 
they  can  stand  and  big  as  your  body, — and  the  old  to- 
bacco hills  still  visible,  that  were  made  there  before  they 
sprouted,  I  suppose.  Well,  one  evening  it  was  my  turn 
to  post  the  pickets  along  the  outer  edge  of  one  of  those 


THE   REUNION    OF   THE  "GHOSTS.  385 

interminable  pineries  which  lay  between  head-quarters 
and  the  front.  As  I  rode  along  in  the  dusk  I  could 
occasionally  see  the  other  line,  in  some  places  not  two 
hundred  yards  away,  across  the  clearing.  It  rained ;  one 
of  your  misty,  soaking  Virginia  rains,  such  as  put  out 
fires,  and  dampen  blankets,  and  soak  a  man  until  he  has 
no  relish  for  water, — 'specially  as  a  beverage, — for  a 
week.  Before  I  could  get  to  the  end  of  the  line  it  began 
to  grow  dark,  and  very  soon  you  couldn't  see  your  horse's 
ears.  The  rain  came  down  as  fine  as  spray,  and  when 
I'd  got  fairly  among  the  trees,  Egypt  itself  couldn't  have 
been  blacker.  The  fine  tassels  struck  me  in  the  face  as 
though  they  meant  it,  and  I  jammed  my  knees  and 
scraped  my  elbows,  and  wandered  and  boggled,  until 
finally  I  began  to  know  for  a  certainty  that  I  was  adrift 
and  very  nearly  afloat.  You've  heard  pines  whisper. 
Everybody  has,  I  suppose;  but  that  is  in  daylight,  and 
don't  express  anything  like  that  night.  Why,  man,  they 
fairly  talked.  When  I  stopped  to  feel  about  me  and 
consider  matters,  you  know,  I  could  hear  them  say :  <  0, 
look  at  him !  look  at  him  !  fie,  fie,  fie  ! '  all  in  a  whisper. 
You  may  all  think  this  is  foolishness, — and  it  is  now ; 
but  it  wasn't  then.  Sometimes  I  thought  I  could  hear 
people  talking,  and  sometimes  something  would  crack, 
as  though  a  twig  were  trod  upon.  That's  the  point  to 
this  business.  Put  yourself  in  the  dark  with  something 
that  moves  and  makes  noises,  and  yet  that  you  can't  see 
and  can't  account  for,  and  any  of  you  will  get  out  of 
there  if  you  can.  Well,  I  began  to  think  I  might  chance 
to  get  across  the  line,  and  the  Johnnies  would  take  me 
in  out  of  the  rain  and  provide  for  me ;  and  as  sure  as  I 
live,  I  had  rather  have  had  it  happen  than  stay  where  I 
was.  I  was  getting  creepy,  for  it  seemed  to  me  I  was 
13 


186  THE   REUNION   OP  THE    GHOSTS. 

bewitched.  The  words  the  pines  whispered  seemed 
plainer  than  ever,  and  my  hair  almost  rose  on  my  head 
when  my  horse  snorted  and  shied,  and  stopped  dead-still. 
I  struck  him  with  the  spurs,  but  he  would  n't  stir  an 
inch;  and  moved  to  desperation,  I  dismounted,  and  lead- 
ing him  slowly  along,  held  my  hand  as  far  as  I  could 
reach  before  me,  and  attempted  to  feel  myself  out  of  the 
scrape  if  I  could.  He  came  along  well  enough  then,  and 
I  proceeded  a  rod  or  two  among  the  trees.  Suddenly, — 
it  makes  me  shiver  to  think  of  it, — I  placed  my  bare 

hand  fair  against what  do  you  think  ?  No,  it  wasn't 

a  tree.  Demme,  I  struck  it  with  my  open  palm  as  fairly 
as  though  I'd  tried  to, — a  clammy,  bearded  face !  Bah ! 
It  was  wet  and  cold  and  soft,  and  a  finger  went  right  into 
one  staring  open  eye !  Gentlemen,  I  could  feel  my  hair 
rise  and  my  heart  stop  for  an  instant.  What  was  the 
thing?  Go  find  one  and  touch  it,  and  see  if  you  can  tell. 
I  know  it  was  a  face, — a  human  face, — and  that  it  was 
cold  and  bearded  and  confoundedly  unexpected.  I  backed 
out  of  that  rapidly  for  a  rod  or  two,  and  listened  and 
heard  nothing.  Then  I  crouched  down  behind  a  tree 
and  held  my  horse  by  the  rein,  and  waited  through  the 
mortal  hours  of  the  longest  night  I  ever  knew.  The 
pines  kept  up  their  frightful  whispering,  and  except  that, 
there  was  not  the  slightest  sound.  When  at  last  morn- 
ing came,  I  found  I  was  three  miles  from  my  own  camp, 
and  opposite  that  of  another  brigade.  0,  I  was  bravo 
enough  then,  and  so  disgusted  that  to  this  blessed  night 
I  've  never  mentioned  the  circumstance." 

"  Well,  ah — what  was  it  ?"  ventured  Charles  Augustus. 

"Nothing!  Demme,  it  was  &  ghost!"  roared  old  Griz- 
zly. "  I  looked  everywhere  in  the  morning,  and  there 
was  absolutely  nothing  there,  living  or  dead," 


TEE   REUNION   OF  THE   GHOSTS.  187 

"Yes  there  was,"  said  a  voice  from  beyond  the  table 
**  and  to  this  time  I  have  been  wondering  who  or  what  it 
was,  that  placed  a  clammy,  wet  hand  squarely  upon  my 
face  and  then  vanished,  ^hat  night  when  I  stood  against 
a  pine  in  the  rain,  with  my  company  somewhere  on 
picket, — I  didn't  know  where, — I  listening  and  watching 
for  something  that  was  creeping  nearer  and  nearer  until 
finally  I  was  touched  as  I  tell  you." 

"But, — but  demme!  what  became  of  you?"  roared 
Grizzly,  rising  up,  "  and  why  didn't  you  speak  of  this 
before?" 

"I  had  immediate  business  in  the  opposite  direction," 
remarked  the  ghost,  dryly. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you, — demme  you  certainly 
didn't  r— " 

"  Yes,  I  ran  the  other  way,  and  at  this  distance  I'm  not 
sure  I  wouldn't  do  it  again.  There's  no  use  talking,  old 
man ;  we  won't  run  tonight,  and  it'll  take  an  hour  or  two 
to  recover  the  comfort  we  sacrificed  there  on  each  other's 
account." 

When  the  moon  sets,  Charles  Augustus  in  under  the 
table,  and  Grizzly  snores  in  a  corner.  Brown,  who  is 
officer  of  the  day  in  the  morning,  reposes  on  the  counter 
with  his  boots  on,  while  the  plumed  and  buttoned  indi- 
vidual actually  on  duty  sits  in  solitary  and  sorrowful  dig- 
nity, amid  the  wreck  of  matter  and  the  fumes  of  wine, 
grumbling  at  the  fates  that  have  decreed  that  of  all 
throats  his  alone  should  be  dry,  and  wondering  that  the 
spirits  which  haunted  the  Wilderness  a  decade  ago  should 
prove  such  valiant  wine-bibbers  four  thousand  miles  from 
the  scene  of  their  wanderings. 


COYOTES. 


HE  has  been  called  an  "  outcast"  by  a  notorious  poet. 
He  is  universally  conceded  to  be  a  sneak,  a  thief 
and  an  arrant  coward.  He  is  a  worthless  vagabond ;  a 
wanderer  o'  nights  and  a  lier-by  by  day;  a  dissipated 
wretch  in  whose  whole  history  there  is  not  one  redeeming 
fact.  He  has  an  extensive  connection  but  no  family.  He 
is  disowned  by  the  dogs,  and  not  recognized  at  all  by 
respectable  foxes.  The  gaunt  gray  wolf  who  eends  his 
hoarse  voice  across  the  ravine,  in  a  howl  the  most  dismal 
and  harrowing  that  ever  disturbed  midnight  and  silence, 
will  have  no  fellowship  with  the  little  thief  who  seems  to 
have  stolen  his  gray  coat,  and  would  fain  be  counted 
among  his  poor  relations. 

And  yet  the  coyote  is  the  representative  animal  of  the 
border.  It  is  his  triangular  and  elongated  visage;  his 
sharp  muzzle,  fitted  for  the  easy  investigation  of  the 
smallest  aperture  into  other  peoples'  affairs ;  his  oblique, 
expressionless  eyes,  which  should  have  a  place  in  the 
adornment  of  escutcheons,  and  the  embellishment  of  title 
pages.  The  buffalo,  who  is  his  successful  rival  in  such 
matters,  occupies  the  place  because  his  shaggy,  stupid 
head  is  big.  The  buffalo  is  not  the  representative  of 
anything  but  stupidity  and  ponderosity.  He  has  roamed 
in  countless  thousands  here,  for  hundreds  of  years,  and 
during  all  that  time  he  has  never  even  bellowed.  There 
is  no  amount  of  pleasure,  excitement,  anger  or  love,  which 
can  induce  him  to  make  a  sound  other  than  a  guttural 
groaning  which  ill  becomes  his  size.  That  great  armament 


COYOTES.  189 

of  lungs  and  throat  ^and  nostrils  is  good  for  nothing  in 
accoustics,  and  while  he  might  make  the  valleys  to 
tremble,  and  his  voice  might  almost  shake  the  hills,  he 
just  spends  his  life  in  galloping,  butting  sand-banks  and 
eating.  Especially  does  he  affect  the  latter;  his  life  is 
one  long  process  of  deglutition  and  rumination.  He 
never  stole  anything.  He  never  made  the  moonlit  hours 
hideous,  from  love  of  own  voice.  He  is  so  dull  as  to  be 
incapable  of  self-defense.  None  but  a  great  booby  would 
deliberately  run  along-side  of  a  slow-going  railroad  train, 
to  be  shot  by  kid-glove  sportsmen,  and  even  by  women, 
three  or  four  score  times  in  the  back  with  silver-mounted 
pocket-pistols.  The  stupidity  of  his  whole  family  is  illus- 
trated every  day  by  the  countless  bleaching  skulls,  and 
brown  tufts  of  faded  hair,  which  mark  his  death  at  the 
hands  of  people  to  whom  the  riding  of  a  mustang  would 
be  an  impossible  thing,  and  the  death  of  a  timorous  hare, 
a  prodigy  of  skill  and  cunning.  He  has  been  killed  in 
countless  thousands  thus,  within  pistol-shot  of  a  track 
where  with  shriek  and  roar,  four  trains  a  day  pass, 
freighted  with  puny  enemies  who  would  never  see,  much 
less  kill  him,  if  he  would  only  betake  himself  to  the  fast- 
nesses of  the  wilderness  which  has  been  his  from  time 
immemorial. 

Not  so  his  companion  and  actual  master,  the  coyote. 
He  will  lengthen  out  the  days  of  his  life,  until  his  voice 
sounds  hollow  and  thin  and  aged,  in  the  watches  of  the 
night.  Nothing  less  than  infinite  pains  and  insidious 
strychnine  will  end  his  vagabond  life.  As  his  gray  back 
moves  slowly  along  at  a  leisurely  trot,  above  the  reeds 
and  coarse  grass,  and  he  turns  his  sly  face  over  his  shoul- 
der to  regard  you,  he  knows  immediately  whether  or  not 
you  have  with  you  a  gun.  The  coyote  is  a  reflective 


190  COYOTES. 

brute,  and  has  an  enquiring  mind.  Only  convince  him 
of  the  fact  that  you  are  unarmed,  and  he  proceeds  to 
interview  you,  in  a  way  which  for  politeness  and  unobtru- 
siveness  is  recommended  as  a  model  to  more  intelligent 
and  scarcely  less  obtrusive  animals. 

As  he  sits  himself  complacently  down  upon  his  tail 
at  the  summit  of  the  nearest   knoll,  and  lolls  his  red 
tongue,  and  seems  to  wink  in  your  direction,  he  is  so 
much  like  his  cousin  the  dog,  that  you  can  hardly  refrain 
from  whistling  to  him.     Make  any  hostile  demonstration, 
and  he  moves  a  few  paces  further  and  sits  down  again. 
Lie  down  in  the  grass,  and  remain  quiet  for  an  hour,  and 
by  slyly  watching  him  from  the  corner  of  your  eye,  you 
will  discover  that  he  has  been  joined  by  a  half  dozen  of 
his  brethren  and  friends.     Slowly  they  come  nearer  and 
nearer.     They  are  cautiously  creeping  upon  all  sides  of 
you.     Our  curious  friend  has  an  object  in  this,  outside  of 
mere  foolish  curiosity.     He  is  conscious  of  the  frailty  of 
life,  and  knows  that  all  flesh  is  grass,  and  now  wants  to 
find  out,  first,  if  you  are  dead,  and  second,  supposing  you 
are  not,  if  there  is  anything  else  in  your  neighborhood 
which  is  eatable.     You  rise  up  in  sudden  indignation  and 
scare    the    committee    away.     In   that    case  you    have 
offended  the  coyote  family  deeply,  and  they  retire  to  a 
safe  distance  and  bark  ceaselessly  until  they  have  hooted 
you  out  of  the  neighborhood.     That  night  he  and  his 
companions  will  probably  come  and  steal  the  straps  from 
your  saddle,  the  meat  from  the  frying-pan,  and  politely 
clean  the  pan,  and  the  boots  from  your  bedside.    Nothing 
that  was  originally  derived  from  animal  organization,  or 
has  the  faintest  flavor  of  grease,  comes  amiss   to  him. 
Through  a  thousand  variations  in  his  family  history,  the 
disposition  to  gnaw  something  remains  unchanged.  There 


COYOTES.  191 

is  no  more  formidable  array  of  ivory  than  his,  and  his 
greatest  delight  in  life  is  ever  to  have  something  rancid 
between  his  teeth. 

There  is  a  distant  collateral  branch  of  this  extensive 
family,  which  has  for  ages  been  noted  for  its  cunning  and 
rascality.  The  first  beast  with  which  a  child  becomes 
intimately  acquainted  is  the  fox.  He  has  illustrated  more 
pretty  fables  than  all  other  beasts ;  he  has  beautified  more 
picture  books,  and  brought  out  more  artistic  skill.  In 
reality  he  possesses  but  one  advantage  over  the  coyote, 
and  that  consists  in  his  proverbial  swiftness  of  foot.  His 
brush  is  no  larger  and  bushier,  and  his  coat  no  thicker. 
Probably  neither  of  these  rivals  in  the  science  of  stealing 
can  lay  any  great  claim  to  personal  beauty,  and  consider- 
ing his  want  of  speed  the  coyote  is  the  better  beast  of  the 
two,  in  the  particular  line  for  which  they  are  all  dis- 
tinguished. 

In  the  great  plains  of  the  south-west,  and  the  moun- 
tains of  New  Mexico,  one  is  puzzled  to  know  where  a 
beast  so  wanting  in  ferocity  and  so  slow  of  foot,  can  pos- 
sibly obtain  his  daily  meat.  The  truth  is  that  he  has  to 
live  by  his  wits.  No  one  ever  saw  a  starved  coyote.  He 
does  not  confine  himself  to  any  particular  diet,  and 
wherever  he  may  wander  or  rest,  he  is  evidently  always 
thinking  of  his  next  meal.  He  would  distinguish  himself 
by  stealing  domestic  fowls,  only  there  are  none  in  his 
dominion  to  steal.  But  he  does  not  abandon  his  occu- 
pation on  that  account.  He  has  the  Chinaman's  fancy 
for  bird's  nests,  and  he  follows  the  mountain  quail  to  her 
bundle  of  twigs,  and  daintily  laps  the  inner  sweets  of  a 
dozen  eggs,  and  retires  like  a  man  from  a  free  lunch 
tslily  licking  his  chops.  In  the  dead  hours  of  the  night 
he  creeps  upon  the  covey  resting  in  the  coarse  grass, 


192  COYOTES. 

their  tails  together  and  their  heads  beneath  their  wings ; 
even  the  wary  old  whistler  who  leads  and  guards  his 
interesting  family  daily  over  the  intricate  miles  of  their 
habitat  himself  sound  asleep;  and  throwing  his  sprawling 
fore-paws  suddenly  over  as  many  as  he  can,  leaves  the 
rest  to  whirr  screaming  away  in  the  darkness,  and  learn 
from  him  a  useful  lesson  of  family  vigilance  for  the 
future. 

The  Jackass  rabbit,  doomed  to  fame,  partly  on  account 
of  swiftness,  but  mainly  because  of  his  grotesque  auric- 
ular development,  frequently  falls  a  victim  to  the  strategy 
of  this  marauder,  at  whom,  under  ordinary  circumstances, 
he  might  be  supposed  to  sit  upon  his  hinder  legs  and 
derisively  smile.  Jack  is  sometimes  so  incautious  as  to 
be  tempted  by  a  damp  and  shady  nook,  to  lie  upon  his 
back  like  a  squirrel,  and  with  his  ears  conveniently 
doubled  under  him,  and  his  gaunt  legs  in  the  air,  to  too 
soundly  sleep.  Then  the  coyote  creeps  cautiously  upon 
him,  licking  his  lips,  and  as  quiet  as  to  voice  as  though 
he  had  never  waked  the  lugubrious  echoes.  He  may 
spend  an  hour  in  the  task,  and  finally  he  makes  a  spring 
not  the  less  rapid  because  it  is  awkward,  and  the  poor 
rabbit  takes  his  last  lesson  in  gnawing  subjectively. 

The  virtue  of  perseverance  shines  brightly  in  the 
coyote.  All  these  things  require  an  inexhaustible  fund 
of  patience.  Of  course  he  fails  in  many  of  his  murderous 
attempts,  but  none  the  less  does  he  try  again.  There  is 
a  notable  instance  in  which  this  quality  alone  brings  him 
victory,  and  that  is  in  his  contest  with  the  buffalo.  In 
this,  since  the  supply  of  meat  will  necessarily  be  large, 
he  makes  common  cause  with  all  his  hungry  neighbors. 
The  old  bull,  after  many  years  of  leadership,  and  after 
becoming  the  father  of  a  horde  of  ungrateful  descendants, 


COYOTES.  193 

i&  finally  driven  forth  from  the  herd  by  the  strong  necks 
and  ambition  of  his  younger  associates,  and  ruminates 
with  two  or  three  superanuated  mates,  while  the  herd 
wanders  afar  off  forgetful.  Then  the  coyotes  take  him 
in  charge.  Wherever  he  goes  they  hungrily  follow.  He 
dare  not  lie  down,  and  weariness  helps  to  overcome  him. 
Finally  they  begin  to  harrass  him  openly  and  with  in- 
creasing boldness.  A  gray  assassin  is  upon  "every  hand  ? 
The  buffalo  is  too  imperturbable  a  brute  to  ever  succumb 
to  mere  barking,  and  his  enemies  begin  to  actually  bite  ? 
The  contest  may  last  for  many  days,  and  be  fought  over 
a  territory  several  miles  in  extent.  The  old  monster  is 
crippled  and  finally  brought  down,  and  a  snarling  feast  is 
commenced,  which  continues  until  the  last  bone  is  picked 
bare. 

But  all  the  coyote's  other  modes  of  obtaining  a  liveli- 
hood are  mere  by-play  to  the  great  business  of  his  life, 
which  is  stealing.  For  a  long  time  it  has  been  supposed 
that  a  cat  approaching  the  cream-jar,  and  a  weasel  intent 
upon  coveted  eggs,  were  the  ideals  of  sly  cunning  and 
predatory  silence.  But  in  the  exhibition  of  a  preter- 
natural talent  for  silent  appropriation,  the  coyote  excells 
all  the  sharp- smelling  and  light-footed  night-wanderers 
Besides.  He  has  a  remarkable  penchant  for  harness,  raw- 
hide and  boots.  He  gnaws  the  twisted  lariat  from  the 
pony's  neck,  and  bodily  drags  away  the  saddle  and  chews 
it  beyond  recognition  by  the  owner.  He  enters  the  open 
barrack-window  and  steals  the  accoutrements  from  the 
soldier's  bed-post,  and  the  shoes  from  beneath  his  pillow. 
He  will  walk  backward  and  draw  a  dry  raw-hide,  hard 
and  juiceless  as  a  board,  a  mile  from  where  he  found  it. 
It  would  seem  that  he  did  not  steal  these  things  for  food 
alone.  In  the  majority  of  cases  they  are  beyond  the 


194  COYOTES, 

mastication  even  of  a  coyote's  restless  jaws.  He  steals,  aa 
some  men  do,  because  he  is  a  born  criminal.  He  'IB 
largely  gifted  with  the  sense  of  smell,  and  the  savory 
order  of  the  camp-fire  frying-pan  reaches  his  appreciative 
olfactories  a  long  way  off.  With  droopiug  tail  and  low- 
ered head  he  comes  stealthily  near  like  a  thievish  dog, 
and  his  appearance  in  the  darkness  is  the  very  picture  of 
treachery.  He  is  patient,  and  will  not  be  driven  far,  but 
crouches  down  a  hundred  yards  away,  and  longingly 
licks  his  lips  and  waits.  Then  his  brethren  silently  come, 
and  ere  long  the  little  bright  fire  and  the  tired,  lounging 
figures  around  it  are  surrounded  by  a  cordon  of  patient, 
harmless,  hungry  thieves  who  lick  their  jaws  and  faintly 
whine  in  expectation. 

These  are  the  times,  and  only  these,  when  the  coyote 
is  silent.  Upon  all  other  occasions  his  voice  is  his  pride 
and  glory,  and  he  throws  back  his  head  in  the  ecstasy  of 
discord,  and  gives  it  to  the  wind  and  the  night  in  a  rapid 
succession  of  discordant  yelps,  which  seem  ceaseless  for 
hours  together.  Indeed,  the  coyote's  bark  is  the  promi- 
nent feature  of  night  in  the  wilderness.  To  one  unac- 
customed to  it,  sleep  is  impossible.  In  spite  of  the 
knowledge  of  the  brute's  cowardice  and  general  harrn- 
lessness,  it  is  impossible  to  banish  restlessness  and  some 
feeling  of  fear.  After  the  fire  dies  out,  as  the  sleepless 
and  discordant  hours  pass,  you  long  for  morning  and 
peace. 

Coyotes  and  Indians  are  supposed  to  be  on  good  terms 
always.  They  are  somewhat  alike  in  characteristics,  and 
possess  a  mutuality  of  interests.  They  both  object  to  the 
invasion  of  the  white  man,  and  both  are  cotemporary 
occupants  of  a  country  which  cannot  long  remain  the 
home  of  either.  But  the  coyote's  dislike  to  the  invader 


COYOTES.  195* 

is  unreasonable,  for  he  has  been  furnished  more  feasts, 
upon  the  carcasses  of  causelessly  slaughtered  buffalo  in 
one  year  than  the  Indian  would  have  given  him  in  ten. 

But  our  gray-coated  firiend  makes  a  near  approach  to 
respectability  in  one  item  :  he  is  a  creature  of  family,  for 
which  he  duly  provides.  Any  morning  in  early  spring, 
upon  some  dry  knoll  may  be  seen  three  or  four  little 
brown-colored,  stupid-looking  cubs,  lazily  enjoying  the 
early  warmth.  At  the  slightest  alarm  they  tumble  with- 
more  alarcity  than  gracefulness  into  the  mouth  of  the 
den,  from  which  they  never  wander  far,  and  many  an 
hour's  patient  digging  will  not  unearth  them.  Not  far 
off  may  be  seen  the  mother,  uneasily  watching  the  course 
of  the  intruder's  footsteps.  But  provision  for  a  family  is, 
not  carried  so  far  among  the  coyotes  as  it  is  in  the  fox. 
family.  There  are  no  delicate  morsels  carried  to  the 
den,  and  the  adolescent  thief  must  subsist  upon  his 
mother's  scanty  udders  until  he  has  attained  his  teeth  and 
his  voice,  when  he  is  launched  upon  the  wilderness  world 
fully  prepared  by  nature  and  instinct  to  practise  all  the 
variations  in  music  and  theft,  and  to  follow  in  the  devious 
ways  of  all  his  ancestors. 

He  is  a  brute  which  is  entitled  to  respect  from  his 
very  persistence  and  patience  in  knavery.  Contemptible 
in  person  and  countless  in  numbers,  he  forages  fatness 
from  things  despised  of  all  others.  lie  is  patient  in  his 
cunning,  persevering  in  crime,  and  independent  of  all 
resources  except  his  own.  He  is  utterly  careless  of  the 
contempt  which  all  other  beasts  seem  to  have  for  him, 
waiting  for  his  revenge  for  the  time  of  their  feebleness 
and  decay.  Like  all  cowards,  he  can  fight  desperately 
when  he  must,  and  the  borderer's  dogs  wear  many  ugly 
scars  of  his  making.  Winter  and  summer,  in  heat  and 


196  COYOTES. 

cold,  he  wags  his  way  along  the  prairie-path  with  the 
same  drooping,  quick-turning  watchful  head ;  the  same 
lolling  red  tongue,  the  same  bushy  tail  trailing  behind ; 
ever  mindful  of  a  coyote's  affairs,  ever  looking  for  sup- 
per; the  figure-head,  the  feature,  the  representative  of 
the  broad  and  silent  country  of  which  he  comes  more 
nearly  being  master  than  any  other. 


THE   PRIEST    OF    EL   PASO. 


THE  town  of  El  Paso  del  Korte  is  a  bright  dot  in  a 
green  ribbon  of  fertility  between  frowning  moun- 
tains. The  green  velvet  ribbon  is  Jthe  valley  of  the  Rio 
Grande,  and  El  Paso  is  the  jewel  which  lies  upon  it. 
Such  is  its  description  as  set  down  in  the  chronicles  of 
ancient  times. 

This  important  point  in  the  Mexican  empire  was  not 
young  when  Cincinnati  was  a  hamlet  and  Saint  Louis  a 
French  trading-post ;  Indiana  a  beech-grown  wilderness 
and  Illinois  a  wide  and  inhospitable  jungle  of  tall  grass. 
What  though  the  Connestoga  wagons  carried  the  trade  of 
the  young  city  of  William  Penn  to  the  valley  of  the  Ohio,, 
and  the  rich  and  waiting  heart  of  a  continent  lay  unheard- 
of  and  uncared-for,  biding  its  time  amid  its  silent  forests 
and  great  rivers.  The  three  generations  that  had  lived 
and  died  in  El  Paso  had  not  cared  for  nor  even  heard  of 
these  things.  The  priest  in  his  gown  and  hat  went  his 
way  in  the  streets,  and  the  laden  donkeys  stood  in  the 
market-place.  It  was  sunny  then  as  now,  and  the  rich 
grape-clusters  ripened  in  the  beams,  and  the  wine-vats 
gave  forth  their  ordors  through  court-yard  doors  as  the 
blood-red  juice  ripened  and  grew  rich  within,  and  crept 
through  chinks  and  grain-holes,  and  lay  in  odorous  pools 
upon  the  floor.  And  the  church  was  there  as  it  is  now. 
Just  the  same  in  its  barbaric  magnificence,  only  the 
huge  cedar-beams  of  the  roof  were  not  then  covered  with 
a  gray  mould,  and  the  central  arch  had  not  sunk  and 


198  THE   PRIEST    OF   EL    PASO. 

cracked  until  its  key-stone  hung  perilously  in  its  niche. 
The  brown  sand-stone  slabs  in  the  yard  tell  us  all  that, 
as  we  read  in  the  ancient  and  half-defaced  characters,  of 
the  Dons  and  Senoras  who,  in  the  odor  of  sancity,  went 
to  rest  here  A.  D.  1798. 

But  of  all  things,  and  least  of  all,  did  these  people  sus- 
pect what  their  grandchildren  should  live  to  see.  The 
Jeusit  himself,  the  best  judge  of  the  course  of  empire  and 
best  prophet  of  political  and  social  changes  as  he  is,  did 
not  suspect  that  one  day  the  boundaries  of  an  infant  Re- 
public should  widen  until  within  gun-shot  of  his  church 
and  almost  within  the  sound  of  his  chant,  and  only  upon 
the  other  shore  of  the  river  his  brethren  had  discovered, 
named  and  claimed  as  their  own,  should  arise  a  Yankee 
town,  named  after  a  great  mechanic  who  was  not  less  a 
genius  and  a  sage,  and  that  yet  a  little  farther  and  still 
within  sight,  should  float  in  his  own  sunshine  that  silken, 
eheeny,  starry  thing,  the  emblem  of  free  men  and  free 
faith. 

We  have  said  that  it  was  seventy  years  ago.  But  the 
old  man  with  whom  the  two  strangers  talked  did  not  tell 
them  of  the  changes  between  then  and  now.  They  were 
not  in  his  thoughts,  and  not  in  the  story  he  told.  But 
his  long  white  beard  and  silvery  hair  and  shrunken 
limbs  suggested  it,  and  as  he  seated  himself  in  the  leath- 
ern-bottom chair,  its  cedar  framework  polished  and 
black  with  age  and  use,  they  were  the  words  he  used  as 
a  beginning, — "  Seventy  years  ago,  Cabelleros, — seventy 
years  ? " 

It  was  a  curious  chamber  in  which  they  sat.  The  walls 
ivere  high  and  mouldy,  and  the  cob-webbed  ceiling  was 
far  up  in  shadow.  The  one  tall  window  had  lost  all  glass 
except  a  few  of  the  lower  panes,  and  the  cotton  cloth 


THE   PRIEST    OF   EL    PASO.  199 

which  supplied  its  place  fluttered  as  the  autumn  night- 
wind  wandered  through.  Through  this  window  they 
had  first  seen  the  interior,  for  wandering  through  the 
rambling  streets  at  midnight,  one  is  curiously  attracted 
by  a  light  which  dimly  burns  in  the  dilapidated  window 
of  an  ancient  church.  Standing  upon  the  grass-grown 
walk  beside  the  wall  there  was  no  concealment  of  a  figure 
upon  whose  shoulders  lay  the  thin  white  hair,  and  who, 
prone  upon  the  earthen  floor  stretched  his  attenuated 
arms  toward  the  Mother  of  Sorrows  in  supplication, 
rigid,  silent,  pitiable.  He  was  alone.  The  lamp  smoked 
in  its  bracket  upon  the  wall,  and  the  small  flame  in  the 
narrow  fire-place  served  but  to  throw  grotesque  shadows 
through  the  narrow  space.  The  star-lit  darkness  enfolded 
the  old  town  in  a  shadowy  cloak.  Even  the  guitar  was 
silent  and  the  door-lights  put  out,  and  the  far  peaks  of 
the  mountains  seemed  to  guard  in  the  darkness  a  scene 
strange  enough  in  noonday,  and  mediaeval,  sombre  and 
mysterious  at  midnight  beneath  the  stars. 

They  were  strangers;  it  was  their  business  to  learn. 
Who  could  he  be,  who  prayed  so  long  and  silently? 
Presently  he  rose  up  and  passed  out  into  the  body  of  the 
church,  and  a  moment  afterwards  the  bell  upon  the  gable 
rang  a  few  sonorous  strokes.  At  the  sound  in  the  still- 
ness the  sleeper  may  have  turned  in  his  bed  and  uttered 
his  shortest  prayer,  and  turned  again  to  sleep.  To  go 
round  and  walk  up  the  aisle  of  graves  and  stand  in  the 
ever-open  door,  was  something  which  curiosity  prompted 
and  soon  done.  The  old  man  stood  there,  the  bell- rope 
still  in  his  hand,  cautiously  listening.  They  could  not 
tell  if  there  was  surprise  in  his  eyes  as  they  entered,  but 
there  was  kindness  in  his  action  as  he  bade  them  wait 
where  they  stood.  They  heard  his  slow  footsteps  as  he 


200  THE   PRIEST    OF   EL    PASO. 

passed  back  through  the  darkness  to  the  room  where 
they  had  seen  him  first.  Presently  he  came  again,  the 
lamp  held  above  his  head,  peering  through  the  gloom. 

"  Would  you  pray,  Senors  ?"  said  he  in  the  piping 
treble  of  age. 

They  told  him  they  came  not  to  pray  but  to  talk.  He 
hesitated  a  moment  between  doubt  and  courtesy,  and 
then,  bidding  them  follow,  led  the  way  over  the  hard 
earthen  floor,  past  the  altar-rail,  at  which  he  bent  his 
decrepit  knees,  by  images  whose  faces  had  a  ghostly  look 
in  the  dim  lamplight,  and  into  the  room  which  seemed 
his  chamber,  and  where  they  had  seen  him  as  he  prayed. 

He  turned  to  them  with  a  gesture  which  had  in  it  a 
mixture  of  courtesy  and  irony,  waved  his  hand  around 
the  apartment  as  who  should  say  " here  it  is  all, — look!" 
and  seated  himself  in  the  one  old, chair  and  looked  into 
the  fire.  The  place  had  a  faint  mouldy  smell,  and  that 
suggestion  of  quiet  age  which  it  is  hard  to  describe.  The 
earthen  floor  was  worn  until  it  was  hard  and  smooth  as 
stone.  Upon  one  side  were  presses  whose  doors  had 
parted  from  hinge  and  hasp,  and  whose  panels  dropped 
away  piecemeal,  and  within  them  were  glimpses  of  yel- 
low linen  and  scarlet  vestments  and  faded  and  tarnished 
lace.  There  was  nothing  there  surely  that  was  worth  a 
question,  and  as  the  old  sacristan, — for  such  seemed  to 
be  his  office, — still  sat  with  his  back  toward  them  looking 
intently  at  the  glowing  coals,  they  asked  him  none. 

But  in  the  midst  of  mouldiness  and  decay  one  com- 
paratively small  object  attracted  attention  from  its  appa- 
rent freshness.  Against  the  wall  and  immediately  be- 
neath a  crucifix  was  a  frame  of  dark  wood  some  four  feet 
long  by  one  wide. 

It  shone  with  frequent  polishing,  and  within  it  hung  a 


THE   PRIEST   OF   EL   PASO.  201 

curtain  of  green  cloth.  It  might  have  passed  unnoticed 
save  for  the  suggestion  of  concealment.  They  were  there 
to  see,  and  should  they  not  know  what  lurked  behind  the 
small  green  curtain  ?  It  mattered  little  perhaps,  but  as 
one  of  them  touched  its  corner  with  his  finger  the  sacris- 
tan rose  up  with  a  polite  deprecating  gesture  at  which 
they  stood  ashamed.  He  took  the  lamp  from  its  place 
and  trimmed  it  afresh.  Contrary  to  all  expectation  there 
was  interest  and  pleasure  in  his  eyes  as  he  approached 
the  panel  with  the  lamp  in  his  hand  and  tenderly  raised 
the  curtain.  "  Look,"  said  he,  "  the  hand  that  made  it 
was  a  cunning  one.  He  who  painted  those  lines  was  a 
great  artist, — one  of  the  greatest  of  his  times,  but  none 
will  ever  know  it.  In  the  old  land  across  the  sea  are 
great  paintings,  and  the  names  of  their  creators  are  im- 
mortal. But  he  whose  hand  made  this  was  as  great  as 
they.  He  and  they  might  have  worked  together,  and 
you  might  now  know  who  I  mean.  But  no,  you  do  not 
know, — you  will  never  know.  There  were  few  who  did, 
and  they  are  dead.  There  is  nothing  left  but  this, — only 
this  poor  thing.  Ah !  he  was  a  poet,  an  artist,  rich  and 
a  grandee.  He  was  handsome  as  a  god  and  learned  as  a 
sage, — and  this  is  all  there  is  left,  Senors, — there  is  noth- 
ing else." 

Whatever  opinion  either  of  them  had  formed  of  the 
old  man  whose  eyes  had  lighted  with  a  new  fire  as  he 
spoke,  they  were  mistaken.  He  was  not  the  peasant  and 
churl  they  thought  him,  and  no  one  need  be  mistaken 
who  now  saw  the  animated  look  in  his  keen  old  eyes  his 
clearly-cut  and  handsome  features,  and  the  lithe  figure 
which  even  in  age  seemed  rather  of  the  camp  and  the 
sword  than  of  the  bell  and  gown. 
14 


202  THE   PRIEST   OF   EL    PASO. 

When  one  in  the  guise  of  a  peasant  descants  upon  art, 
the  specimen  named  may  certainly  attract  at  least  a  pass- 
ing moment's  attention.  The  carefully-cared-for  piece 
which  filled  the  frame  was  vellum  dried  and  horny  with 
age,  on  which  was  traced  in  colors  which  had  lost  none 
of  their  brillancy,  a  Latin  sentence.  The  head-letters 
had  in  them  all  the  intricate  and  graceful  beauty  of  the 
old  art  of  illumination,  and  truly  in  intricacy  of  design, 
brilliancy  of  color  and  graceful  detail  the  work  was  that 
of  no  unaccustomed  or  unskilled  hand. 

But  as  the  stranger  scanned  the  picture, — for  picture  it 
might  really  be  called, — the  words  themselves  seemed 
remarkable.     There  was  a  meaning  and  purpose  in  them: 
and  in  the  position  they  occupied.     The  legend  ran  thus 
ET    NE    ME    INDUCES    IN 

TENTATIONEM, 
SED    LIBER  A     ME    A    MALO. 

"  Lead  me  not  into  tempation,  but  deliver  me  from 
evil."  It  was  only  a  part  of  that  form  which  is  not  so 
much  a  formula  as  a  guide,  which  has  been  sent  upward 
by  millions  of  hearts  for  these  eighteen  hundred  years, 
as  the  essence  of  prayerful  hope.  "  Lead  me  not  into 
temptation ;  "  why  were  they  written  here  ? 

"  If  these  words  have  a  history,  father,  and  the  man  you 
speak  of  made  them  will  you  tell  it  to  us  ? "  asked  one 
of  them. 

There  are  two  conditions  in  which  age  delights ;  one 
in  silence,  the  other  extreme  garrulity.  The  aged 
man,  be  he  soldier,  statesman  or  priest,  lives  mainly  in 
the  past.  When  silent  he  thinks,  not  of  what  he  shall 
do  and  accomplish  and  be,  as  he  did  when  he  was  young; 
but  of  what  he  was  and  remembers.  When  he  talks  he 
tells  of  those  things,  and  either  the  condition  of  silence 


THE   PRIEST   OF  EL   PASO.  203 

or  discourse  is  his  chiefest  delight.  And  a  smile  crept  in- 
to this  wakeful  old  man's  features  again,  as  he  heard  the 
request  "  Why  not,  my  sons  ?  "  he  said ;  and  as  he 
changed  the  title  from  Caballeros  to"  sons/'  he  expressed 
the  feeling  of  gratification  which  warmed  his  old  heart. 
The  strangers  could  guess  by  the  commonest  rules  of 
that  ill-learned  lesson,  life,  that  the  sarcristan's  heart 
clung  to  this  spot  and  its  story  with  a  concentrated  affec- 
tion. A  memory  of  something  greater  or  grander  or 
better,  congenial  to  him  through  hope,  affection  or  mem- 
ory, rather  than  through  actual  experience,  kept  him 
near  the  spot. 

"  Why  not,  my  sous  ?  since  there  is  ever  something 
more  in  the  commonest  life,  than  appears  upon  the  sur- 
face. My  race  is  one  that  loves  glory  and  art  and  beauty, 
but  we  love  also  God  and  the  holy  church.  You  are 
from  the  north  and  the  blood  in  you  veins  is  very 
cold.  Your  reformers, — the  heretics  who  have  led  so 
many  astray,  and  traduced  and  denied  the  Church  which 
alone  can  save,  throughout  the  world,  were  strong  men 
here," — and  he  touched  his  forehead, — "but  they  were 
cold  here"  placing  his  hand  upon  his  heart.  "  You  can 
understand  your  Luther  and  your  Melanchthon  and 
yourHuss,  but  you  cannot  understand  the  gallant  Knight 
of  Pampeluna,  brilliant  in  armor  and  flushed  with  glory, 
who  founded  the  Society  of  Jesus  ; — the  sword  and  the 
cross, — your  cold  race  can  never  understand  that."  The 
sacristan  had  arisen  as  he  spoke,  and  stretched  forth  his 
thin  right  arm  as  though  he  measured  his  antagonist's 
rapier. 

"  But  the  story,  father,"  said  one  of  them ;  "  you  forget 
the  story." 

The  sacristan  sank  again  into  his  chair,  and  the  sadness 


204  THE    PRIEST    OF   EL    PASO. 

came  again  into  his  face.  "  The  legend  upon  the  wall 
reminds  me  of  that,"  he  said.  "  It  was  placed  there 
seventy  years  ago.  It  is  along  time,  my  sons  —  a  very 
long  time.  The  world  has  changed  since  then,"  and 
added,  "  else  you  would  not  be  here.  But  I  will  speak, 
and  afterwards  you  shall  judge." 

"  Don  Juan  Amados  was  of  a  house  which  claimed  a 
drop  of  the  bluest  blood  in  Spain.  They  stood  ever  near 
to  greatness  of  lineage  and  greatness  of  deed.  But  Don 
Amados  was  the  princeliest  of  them  all,  because  God 
made  him  so.  Shall  I  describe  him  to  you,  my  sons  ? 
Then  I  will  say  again  that  you  cannot  understand  him — 
he  was  not  of  your  kind.  He  had  an  oval  olive  face,  eyes 
that  shone  in  kindness  and  flashed  in  anger,  and  the  form 
and  bearing  of  a  soldier  and  a  noble.  How  beautiful  his  hair 
was ;  so  black  and  clustering,  and  how  tender  and 
strong  his  voice.  He  was  the  handsomest  man  in  Spain  ! 
Men  admired  and  respected  him,  and  women  loved  him. 
He  was  as  great  in  mind  as  he  was  beautiful  in  person. 
He  was  learned  in  all  the  learning  of  his  time.  The 
great  universities  of  Spain  could  teach  him  no  more,  and 
last,  he  was  a  soldier.  He  could  not  have  been  otherwise. 
It  is  in  his  race,  as  I  told  you,  to  love  the  cross  and  the 
sword.  I  will  not  tell  you,  my  sons,  of  how  he  fought 
in  the  wars  of  his  country.  I  do  not  love  to  think  of 
the  old  days  of  glory  and  strength.  They  sadden  me. 
But  I  tell  you  that  had  my  country  remained  as  she  once 
was  ;  had  her  gallant  sons  begotten  their  like  again,  our 
holy  church  would  ere  this  have  been  the  church  of  the 
world.  Ah,  she  had  fallen  before  I  was  born — she  was 
failing  when  Don  Amados  was  a  youth,  but  I  know  what 
she  was; — God's  will  be  done. 

"  But  Don  Amados  loved  not  alone  glory ;  he  loved 


THE    PRIEST    OF    EL    PASO.  205 

the  church,  and  when  he  was  as  young  as  either  of  you 
my  sons,  he  became — a  priest.  Do  you  smile  ?  Ah, 
caramba !  Your  cold  race  knows  nothing  either  of  glory 
or  religion !  I  need  not  tell  you  how  he  became  a  priest ; 
only  that  it  was  duty,  love,  conscience !  Do  you  know 
what  I  mean  by  the  last  ?  No,  you  cannot  even  under- 
stand that.  "Well  it  was  simply  that  Don  Amados  had 
sinned  all  the  sins  of  noble  youth,  and  in  time  he  would 
purge  them  away  and  forget  them. 

"He  asked  of  the  council  a  mission,  and  they  sent  him 
here, — even  here.  It  pleased  him,  for  he  knew  not  that 
Spain's  daughters  may  be  beautiful  and  frail  everywhere- 
They  are  all  dead  now  who  remember  the  priest  who 
came  to  the  parish  of  El  Paso  del  Norte  from  across  the 
sea.  But  I  have  heard  them  tell  of  his  noble  face  and 
his  graceful  bearing,  which  even  the  priest's  garments 
might  not  conceal. 

u  You  think  he  made  a  mistake  ;  it  is  like  your  people 
to  thus  weigh  and  calculate.  He  did  not.  Many  in  our 
holy  church  have  borne  the  pyx  and  chalice  who  could 
strongly  wield  the  sword.  Many  times  has  the  rosary 
hung  in  the  rapier's  place. 

I  told  you  in  the  beginning  that  he  was  a  great  artist. 
After  he  came  here  he  was  doubtless  lonely,  and  his  life 
much  changed  from  what  it  had  ever  been  before.  So 
he  beguiled  the  time  with  colors.  In  this  very  room  he 
did  it,  and  his  easel  sat  there  by  the  window,  and  this 
upon  which  I  sit  was  his  seat.  At  one  time  he  painted 
the  High  Mass  in  the  Barcelona  cathedral.  Then  he 
made  a  Lead  of  the  dead  Christ,  a  morning  at  the  Sep- 
ulchre and  many  smaller  ones.  They  hung  here  and  in 
another  room,  and  there  were  many  of  them,  for  he 
labored  rapidly  and  diligently.  It  was  his  life,  his  occu- 


206  THE  PRIEST  OF  EL  PASO. 

pation.  lie  did  nothing  but  paint  and  pray.  How  beau- 
tiful they  were,  and  how  his  soul  was  absorbed  in  them, 

u  The  last  painting  he  ever  made  was  a  Madonna. 
Kot  a  sad  and  tearful  Mother  of  Christ,  but  one  whose 
features  had  in  them  a  radiance  and  glory,  not  of  faith 
and  prophecy,  but  of  human  beauty.  Ah,  and  the  face 
was  one  which  those  who  sleep  yonder  have  told  me  they 
knew,  and  all  Ei  Paso  knew.  It  was  the  gem  of  all,  and 
a  curtain  hid  it  in  its  place,  and  those  only  saw  it  who- 
chanced  to  catch  a  glimpse. 

"  By  and  by  his  soul  was  wrapped  in  art,  and  he  almost 
forgot  he  was  a  priest.  lie  knew  he  was  forgetting,  but 
while  he  did  hard  penance  he  still  painted.  lie  loved  it; 
he  was  an  artist,  my  sons,  and  could  not  help  it. 

"  Once  upon  a  time  there  came  to  El  Paso  a  dignitary 
of  our  government,  one  who  travelled  in  state,  mighty  in 
wisdom  and  in  position.  There  accompanied  him  others, 
only  less  than  he.  Senor  Otero  came  to  this  church,  and 
scarce  waiting  to  pray,  passed  on  and  entered  this  room. 
But  he  stopped  in  the  midst  and  gazed.  He  called  his 
companions  and  bade  them  also  look.  He  was  astonished 
and  enraptured.  Where  is  he  who  made  these  ?  he  said. 
Bring  him  to  me,  for  I  would  tell  him  something  to  his 
great  good.  And  they  that  stood  there  said,  it  is  only 
the  padre  Amados  who  did  it.  What?  said  he,  the 
priest?  I  care  not;  he  has  that  in  him  which  should  not 
rust  here.  Then  the  priest  came,  and  the  Senor  Otero 
eyed  him  and  saw  his  presence  and  his  face.  Father, 
said  he,  if  thou  wilt  come  with  me,  thou  shalt  have  fame 
and  gold,  for  truly  thou  art  mistaken  in  thy  calling. 
Wilt  sell  them  ?  Name  thy  sum. 

"  Then  Amados  hung  his  head  and  turned  pale,  and 
when  at  last  he  had  declined  to  sell,  Senor  Otero  departed 


THE  PRIEST  OP  EL  PASO.  207 

thinking  strangely  of  the  man,  and  wondering  that  priests 
were  oft  such  geniuses  and  such  fools;  but,  said  he,  thou 
shalt  hear  from  me  again  ere  long. 

"  On  that  same  night  the  priest  locked  his  door, — that 
very  door,  my  sons, — and  was  for  a  long  time  alone. 
What  he  did,  God  knows, — His  will  be  done, — but  'tis 
told  how  a  great  smoke  arose  from  the  chimney- top,  and 
in  the  morning  he  lay  here  so  prone  in  prayer,  so  wrapped 
in  deep  devotion  that  none  dared  disturb  him.  This  that 
I  tell  you  is  indeed  true,  that  pictures,  canvas,  colors 
and  easel  were  here  never  seen  again.  The  fire  con- 
sumed them  or  the  flood  drowned  them,  and  the  priest 
came  forth  pale,  sad  and  very  silent,  and  went  his  ways 
and  did  his  offices  with  a  new  humility.  In  a  day  follow- 
ing the  few  who  ever  entered  here  saw  the  panel  in  the 
wall.  It  was  the  last ;  he  touched  brush  or  canvas  no 
more. 

"  But  my  sons,  a  man  may  pray  full  oft,  '  Lead  me  not 
into  temptation ! ' — he  may  write  it  in  colors  never  so 
beautiful  beneath  his  crucifix,  and  may  cast  away  in  the 
bitterness  of  self-sacrifice  all  he  has  himself  made  which 
may  hinder  him  aught,  and  there  will  still  be  left  one 
whose  beauty  he  can  neither  make  nor  mar,  and  whom 
he  cannot  put  away.  I  told  you  that  the  priest  was 
lordly,  learned  and  beautiful.  I  said  he  was  also  a 
scholar  and  a  soldier.  I  may  end  by  saying  that  he  was 
also  a  man.  He  might  burn  his  priceless  Madonna,  but 
the  beautiful  face  which  had  crept  into  it,  he  could  not 
destroy.  It  was  there, — upon  the  street  and  at  the  open 
door.  Do  you  know  women,  my  sons  ?  If  you  do,  you 
are  older  than  you  look,  and  have  learned  most  there  is 
to  know.  This  priest  had  defeated  but  the  first  tempta- 
tion. He  was  accustomed  to  admiring  eyes,  for  there  are 


208  THE  PRIEST  OF  EL  PASO. 

men  from  whom  admiration  is  scarce  concealed.  The 
demi-gods  are  few,  but  this  man  was  one.  How  might 
a  priest  come  to  know  the  startling  fact  that  a  woman 
loves  him,  and  yet  be  innocent.  Ah,  there  is  no  tale- 
bearer who  delivers  his  message  so  easily  as  a  woman's 
eyes  and  a  woman's  rosy  cheek.  The  Dona  Anita  did 
not  admire  the  glorious  priest,  she  did  not  even  love 
him, — she  adored  him.  She  was  not  a  maniac,  in  any 
greater  sense  than  many  have  been  since  Adam.  But 
the  mass  had  come  to  be  a  ceremonial  not  for  her  soul 
but  for  her  heart ;  not  for  God,  but  for  the  priest  who 
officiated.  Think  you,  I  am  telling  a  strange  thing? 
Doubtless,  for  your  race  is  not  as  ours ;  you  are  very  cold. 
But  she  did  not  bring  her  love  and  lay  it  at  his  feet. 
Women  are  born  with  a  better  knowledge  of  men  than 
that.  Yet  there  is  no  land  to  which  she  would  not  have 
followed  him  afar  off,  no  fortune  which  she  would  not 
have  shared.  Yet  without  hope,  since  he  was  a  priest. 
"  But  I  said  he  was  a  man,  and  he  knew  all  this.  Nay, 
it  was  not  that  which  troubled  him ;  it  was  the  other  fact 
that  he  carried  in  his  heart  the  image  of  the  Dona  Anita. 
The  Madonna's  face  was  also  her  face,  and  perchance 
she  had  heard  as  much.  He  met  her  on  the  street,  and  a 
thrill  went  to  his  heart  when  his  gown  but  touched  her 
garments.  He  saw  her  beautiful  face  as  she  knelt  at  the 
altar-rail,  and,  (God  pardon  him,)  he  could  have  dropped 
the  Host  and  fled  away  from  his  duty  and  his  vows. 
You  know  that  this  priest  was  a  heroic  man,  and  was  a 
priest  for  conscience'  sake,  and  for  that  cause  had  aban- 
doned that  only  one  other  thing  which  is  dearer  than 
love — fame.  Those  who  knew  have  told  me  that  from 
vesper-bells  to  matin,  he  lay  all  night  upon  this  floor  and 
prayed  to  be  delivered.  He  was  wan  and  worn  with 


THE    PRIEST   OP  EL   PASO.  209 

penance  and  fasting,  and  yet,  perchance  between  his  eyes 
and  the  face  of  the  blessed  Mother  as  he  prayed,  came 
that  other  warm  human  face  clothed  with  a  nearer  love. 

"  You  think  as  you  listen,  that  there  can  be  little  more 
to  a  story  like  this.  But  I  am  old;  it  pleases  me  to  tell 
all,  and  you  will  listen.  It  came  about  by  and  by,  that 
the  priest  and  the  Dona  understood  each  other,  and  while 
she  disguised  less  and  less  as  she  drew  nearer  to  him 
across  the  great  impossibility,  so  grew  more  and  more 
upon  him  the  irksomeness  of  his  holy  office.  Yet  they 
dared  not  speak,  scarce  even  look,  the  one  to  the  other. 
There  have  been  many  battles  fought  in  men's  souls, — 
harder  and  more  costly  than  the  battles  of  kings.  This 
man  knew  how  to  fight,  and  had  conquered  once.  But 
he  was  beleagured  now  indeed,  for  he  loved  his  enemy. 

"One  night,  in  this  room,  the  priest  thought  he  was 
alone.  He  walked  back  and  forth,  not  quiet  and  calm, 
but  flushed,  anxious  and  almost  despairing.  As  he  passed 
by,  his  shadow  fell  again  and  again  upon  the  window, 
and  one  there  was  near  who  saw  it  each  time.  There 
are  times,  I  am  sure,  when  even  priests,  being  men,  lose 
faith  in  penance  and  prayer.  This  may  have  been  to 
him  one  of  those  times.  By  and  by  she  who  looked  at 
the  window  knew  that  he  stopped  opposite  to  it  and 
stood  still.  Then  there  was  the  quick  movement  of 
systematic  action,  the  faint  clink  of  metal,  and  finally 
when  the  outer  door  was  opened,  there  stood  at  the 
threshold  a  figure  in  plumed  helmet,  the  baldric  upon 
his  breast,  and  the  bright  scabbard  upon  his  thigh.  The 
lamp-light  shone  upon  him  as  he  looked  about  him, 
unconscious  of  a  spectator.  Ah,  my  sons,  it  was  not 
altogether  boyish.  In  thinking  and  longing,  doubting 
and  loving,  can  we  wonder  that  he  longed  once  more  to 


210  THE  PRIEST  OF  EL  PASO. 

know  the  feel  of  the  sword — the  sensation  of  a  far-gone 
life  ?  The  best  of  us  do  much  we  would  not  wish  the 
world  to  smile  at,  and  a  soldier  may  not  be  blamed  if  he 
hides  among  a  poor  priest's  effects  the  plume  that  has 
waved  in  purple  smoke,  and  the  sword  he  has  drawn  in 
the  service  of  his  country  ! 

"If  you  and  I  were  women,  me  might  know  how  she 
felt,  who  watched  him  then.  No  more  a  priest  ?  Ah, 
how  natural  to  forget  tne  reality  and  see  only  the  sham. 
Slowly  she  came  toward  him,  and  as  she  drew  near  where 
he  stood  he  saw  her.  He  was  fastened  to  the  spot  in  his 
dream  of  temptation.  She  came  very  close  and  seated 
herself, — nay,  kneeled,  at  his  feet.  'Tis  an  old  story ;  as 
she  kissed  his  passive  hand  perhaps  he  could  look  down 
into  the  beautiful  eyes.  Women  are  not  slaves,  neither 
are  their  lovers,  but  sometimes  they  dispute  who  shall  be 
the  humblest.  The  town  was  asleep  as  it  is  to-night. 
The  priest  forgot  himself  in  the  soldier  and  the  man,  and 
he  stooped  and  kissed  again,  not  her  hand, — the  first 
woman's  hand  that  had  touched  his  for  years, — but  her 
very  lips. 

"  Men  are  the  same  everywhere,  and  the  priest  re- 
mained a  priest  until  the  Sabbath  morning.  High  mass 
came  again.  We  go  not  so  far  as  to  tell  of  men's  hearts. 
Even  if  his  offices  in  the  high  altar  of  holy  church  were 
heartless,  many  men's  have  been  so  ere  now.  We  can- 
not tell.  But  the  Dona  Anita  came  and  knelt  at  the 
altar-rail.  The  priest  gave  to  her  that  which  is  the  body 
of  Christ.  No  wonder  that  as  he  saw  her  face,  the  flood 
which  is  without  volume  or  sound,  and  which  none  see, 
overwhelmed  him.  He  dropped  the  chalice  from  his 
hand,  and  tore  the  robe  from  his  shoulders,  and  coming 
down  from  his  place,  passed  out  through  the  startled 


THE    PRIEST   OF    £L   PASO.  21T 

people,  through  the  open  door,  and  hastened  away  from 
his  office,  from  the  bosom  of  the  holy  church,  from  con- 
science, honor  and  hope,  forever.  The  legend  was  writ- 
ten in  vain,  and  it  stands  in  its  place  only  to  remind  us* 
all,  my  sons,  that  love  may  conquer,  where  fame  and 
glory  and  wealth  shall  be  beaten  in  the  contest." 

The  old  sacristan  arose  and  took  the  lamp  again  from 
the  bracket,  and  bowed  toward  the  strangers.  When 
past  the  altar  and  the  images,  and  through  the  shadows 
they  again  reached  the  open  door,  the  wierd  hour  of  early 
morning  was  upon  the  world.  The  old  man  stood  in  the 
passage,  and  the  light  wind  played  with  his  long  gray 
hair,  and  the  lamp-light  glanced  upon  his  thin  and 
sharply  outlined  features,  as  he  bade  them  farewell.  The 
man  was  remarkable  as  his  story,  and  one  of  his  guests 
turned  before  he  departed  for  one  more  word. 

"  Father,"  said  he,  "  we  express  our  thanks,  but  will5 
you  not  tell  us  who  you  are  ?" 

"  Others  could  tell  that  my  son,  would  you  but  in  quire; 
but  you  are  strangers.  My  name  is  mine  only  by  inherit- 
ance and  not  by  baptism.  Men  call  me  Garcia,  for  so 
the  church  has  named  me,  but  my  father  was  a  soldier 
and  a  nobleman  and  I  disclaim  him  not.  I  am  the  son 
of  Don  Juan  Amados,  he  for  whose  soul  I  nightly  pray, 
and  my  mother  sleeps  in  the  last  place  but  one,  on  the 
right  hand  as  you  go  out.  God  go  with  you."  And  the 
old  sacristan  turned  and  went  back  among  the  memories 
and  shadows. 


LA     SENORITA. 


IF  a  person  of  the  masculine  profession, — we  use  the 
word  advisedly, — invades  that  territory  which  is  set 
apart  and  occupied  by  the  tastes,  ideas  and  fashions  of 
the  fairer  sex,  he  is  immediately  accused  of  having  seen 
all  that  he  afterwards  goes  and  writes  about  through  a 
mere  crevice  in  the  armor  of  predjudice  similar  to  the 
peep-hole  in  turret  of  a  monitor.  But  no  one  need  be 
deterred  by  stinging  missiles  fired  at  him  with  astonishing 
rapidity,  but  which  he  knows  were  never  intended  for  the 
infliction  of  a  mortal  wound.  And  the  fair-haired  descend- 
ants of  Norman  knights  and  Saxon  thanes  need  feather 
no  darts  upon  this  occasion.  They  may  well  continue 
the  fashioning  of  basques  and  the  comparison  of  braids, 
and  the  silent  but  none  the  less  entertaining  communion 
with  the  mirror,  for  there  is  a  woman  whose  character- 
istics are  controlled  rather  by  race  than  education,  grace- 
ful and  coquettish  rather  by  nature  than  design,  and  so 
far  away  that  in  these  climes  her  olive  face  is  never  seen. 
She  could  not  read  this  if  she  would,  and  it  is  her  of 
whom  we  write. 

The  Spanish  woman, —  for  she  is  intensely  Spanish 
still, — comes  upon  the  traveller  very  unexpectedly  as  he 
journeys  toward  the  south-west.  In  the  old  monotony 
of  the  plains,  and  the  newer  and  not  less  wearisome 
sameness  of  the  mountains,  he  has  perhance  almost 
forgotten  the  airiness  of  calico  and  the  flutter  of  ribbons. 
Squaws  he  has  perhaps  seen  ;  evil-faced  slaves  who  are 
female  merely,  not  womanly.  In  the  curious  aspect  of 


LA   SENORITA.  21& 

the  first  Mexican  town,  he  sees  a  life  around  him  which 
it  is  impossible  to  have  anticipated.  There  is  the  little 
house,  white-washed  and  garnished,  and  troubled/with  an 
eruption  of  brown  spots;  shaded  with  pear  trees  and 
nestled  in  the  midst  of  a  sunny  door-yard  scene  which 
teaches  him  that  poverty  is  no  bar  to  content.  He  sees 
the  herds  of  goats  and  the  solemn  procession  of  laden 
asses,  and  every  evidence  of  a  life  which  is  alone  among- 
the  mountains  of  a  far  country,  and  which  imitates  and 
cares  for  no  other  life. 

It  will  be  strange,  if  he  sees  not  first  and  last  and 
remembers  longest  among  those  things,  a  creature  who  also 
watches  him  with  less  of  curiosity  than  sly  coquettish- 
ness  in  very  black  eyes.  But  persons  and  places,  and 
even  distinct  and  curious  phases  of  character,  have  but  a 
trival  and  fleeting  interest  unless  connected  with  certain 
associations.  It  is  not  the  mere  romantic  idea,  which 
causes  one  to  recogonize  in  this  nut-brown  woman  the 
representative  in  America  of  the  peasant  woman,  per- 
chance the  high-born  Dona,  of  that  old  country  whose 
cross-emblazoned  flag  has  been  borne  to  the  ends  of  the 
earth,  leaving  ever  behind  it  a  trail  of  desolation.  It 
was  beneath  that  flag  that  the  Spanish  woman  became 
American,  in  the  old  time  of  strength  and  conquest,  and 
unchanged  in  manner,  appearance  or  taste  she  still  re- 
mains, rendered  by  circumstances  which  surround  her  a 
still  more  remarkable  woman  than  the  borderer's  wife, 
who  in  time  to  come  will  occupy  the  house  across  the 
way,  and  be  jealous  of  her  vivacious  neighbor. 

The  life  of  the  border  changes  all  men  and  women  into 
people  of  its  own  kind,  and  makes  them  anew  for  its 
purposes;  all  except  the  Senorita.  The  pretty,  oval  face, 
the  bright  black  eyes,  the  careless  laugh  and  the  tongue 


LA   SENORITA. 

especially  trained  by  race  and  habit  to  the  glib  utterance 
of  a  torrent  of  oily  sentences,  are  here  unchanged  in  the 
lapse  of  two  centuries.  To  the  Spanish  woman  there  is 
no  frontier,  because  she  is  ignorant  of  any  other  country. 
The  frontier  is  an  American  institution,  and  she  and  her 
male  companion  lack  the  instinct  of  immigration.  What 
to  us  is  new,  to  them  is  old  beyond  memory.  Here  has 
ever  been  the  church,  the  padre,  the  guitar,  the  fandango, 
the  gossipping  neighbor,  the  cigarette,  and  these  are  all 
there  is  of  life.  Yet  the  Senorita  is  not  an  uneducated 
woman.  Tradition  is  her  teacher.  The  world  wonders 
that  the  Spanish  mind  cannot  change  at  home,  but  it  has 
>not  changed  even  here.  No  people,  not  even  the  Jews, 
show  more  perfectly  the  effects  of  concentrated  nationality. 
Yet  this  woman  has  a  weakness  for  the  Yankee  which  is 
the  bane  and  torture  of  her  husband's  and  her  lover's 
life.  She  smiles  upon  him  in  health  and  comforts  him  in 
misfortune.  She  will  follow  him  wherever  he  may  wander 
throughout  their  rugged  country.  But  through  all  she 
will  cling  to  her  church,  her  language  and  her  race,  and 
finally  return  to  her  native  village,  by  no  means  forsaken 
by  her  family,  with  the  same  loving  smiles  for  the  coming 
man. 

The  Senorita's  very  vices  are  not  hers  in  any  extra- 
ordinary sense,  but  are  in  accordance  with  the  Latin  idea 
of  virtue.  What  shocks  the  Anglo-Saxon,  what  renders 
her  an  outcast  utterly  abandoned  and  forsaken,  is  to  this 
woman  the  coolest  matter  of  course.  With  a  character 
which  the  queen  of  the  demi-monde  would  declare  was 
none  of  hers,  the  Spanish  woman  is  chaste  in  dress,  lan- 
guage and  deportment,  beyond  her  education  and  her 
surroundings.  Those  little  offenses,  which  seem  scarcely 
to  interfere  with  connubial  felicity  or  motherly  duties,  she 


LA   SENORITA.  215 

groups  under  the  general  name  of  love.  Her  faithfulness 
is  to  be  faithful  to  but  one  at  once,  but  that  one  is  seldom 
her  husband.  Him  she  has  of  course,  and  him  she  keeps. 
Her  church  holds  that  marriage  is  a  sacrament  and  not  a 
contract.  Divorces  and  permanent  separations  are  almost 
unknown.  The  elderly  Spanish  woman,  her  youthful 
sins  forgotten  or  classed  among  the  incidents  consequent 
to  beauty,  generally  has  about  her  a  brood  of  children, 
and  is  as  matronly  and  faithful  in  their  care  as  was  her 
lamented  grandmother  before  her.  Such  a  condition  of 
society  as  this,  it  is  hard  to  describe  with  any  hope  of 
being  believed.  There  is  no  apparent  debauchery,  no 
proclamation  of  brazen  vice  in  word  or  manner,  no  lack 
of  delicacy  or  courtesy,  no  rupture  of  the  visible  peace  of 
families  or  the  routine  of  domestic  life,  and  yet  chastity, 
as  a  virtue,  even  as  a  name,  is  nearly  unknown. 

In  contradistinction,  though  not  in  denial  of  all  this,  a 
large  part  of  the  Senorita's  life  is  taken  up  in  the  exer- 
cise of  the  forms  of  religion.  Her  village  is  indeed  a 
poor  one,  if  it  has  not  a  church  more  or  less  ancient  in 
the  midst  of  the  plaza.  There,  at  all  times  cf  the  day 
she  and  her  devotional  companions  kneel  a-row,  and 
patter  their  prayers  in  a  language  they  never  hope  to 
understand,  and  with  a  glibness  of  tongue  and  vacancy 
of  face  which  reminds  one  of  children  learning  a  spell- 
ing-task. She  may  nod  and  smile  at  an  acquaintance 
who  brings  with  him  a  reminiscence  of  last  night's  fan- 
dango; she  will  undoubtedly  see  and  hear  all  that  passes 
within  the  wide  range  of  a  woman's  curiosity,  but  for 
her  soul's  sake  she  pauses  no  instant  in  her  monotonous 
devotions.  She  is  constant  at  the  confessional,  where  it 
may  reasonably  be  doubted  whether  amours  are  consid- 
ered sins,  else  she  would  spend  her  life  in  penance. 


216  LA   SENORITA. 

This  startling  combination  of  religious  devotion  and 
social  crime,  necessarily  occupies  a  large  place  in  the 
recollections  of  this  unique  female,  remembered  too,  by 
comparison  with  those  with  whom  she  has  little  in  com- 
mon. But  in  a  country  where  character  and  life  take 
strange  phases  in  all  respects,  the  most  unaccustomed 
contradictions  in  manners  and  morals  soon  cease  to 
attract  particular  attention.  These  things  come  far  short 
of  being  the  sum  of  all  the  oddities  of  the  Senorita. 
There  is  probably  no  woman  within  the  bounds  of  civ- 
ilization, who  may  be  called  a  fair  representative  of  her 
race;  in  other  words,  who  is  as  bad  as  the  males  of  her 
own  kind.  The  Mexican  farmer  is  a  plodding,  dark- 
faced,  surly  and  silent  creature,  wanting  alike  in  ambi- 
tion and  force,  loving  sunshine,  idleness  and  cigarettas 
with  the  only  devotion  his  nature  knows.  He  dances 
the  blithe  measures  of  the  fandango  with  a  face  that  indi- 
cates, if  anything,  only  the  solemn  performance  of  a  duty. 
He  is  lazy  even  in  the  midst  of  the  vivacious  conversa- 
tion of  his  race.  Gesticulating,  shrugging,  frowning  and 
stamping,  there  is  still  a  perceptible  indolence  in  the  pan- 
tomime. The  smooth  syllables  of  his  mother-tongue 
were  contrived  for  ease  rather  than  force.  Sober  he  is 
stupid;  drunk  he  is  simply  surly.  There  is  an  immense 
deal  of  character  in  intoxication.  The  Indian  screams 
and  dances,  and  is  possessed  with  a  mania  for  the  inflic- 
tion of  outrages  upon  defenseless  creatures.  The  Irish- 
man longs  for  a  new  experience  of  that  delicious  sensation 
consequent  upon  the  breaking  of  a  head.  The  German 
laughs  mostly ;  and  the  Yankee  does  anything  which  it 
enters  his  erratic  head  to  do.  Now  the  Spaniard  sits 
silent  and  broods  upon  the  wrongs  he  has  suffered  during 
the  whole  of  his  aimless  life,  and  meditates  revenge. 


LA   SENORfTA.  217 

Drunkenness  develops  his  national  instinct  of  stealth. 
If  under  the  influence  of  aguadiente  he  can  accomplish 
an  adroit  stab  in  the  back,  or  a  shot  from  behind  a  way- 
side rock,  he  will  have  accomplished  the  brightest  of  his 
drunken  dreams. 

In  these  things  the  woman  is  his  opposite.  She  it  is 
who  furnishes  the  element  of  cheerfulness  in  a  land 
where  but  for  the  sunshine,  nature  herself  would  wear  a 
perpetual  frown.  She  is  lithe,  graceful,  cheerful  and 
kind-hearted.  She  delights  in  bright  colors  and  gaudy 
scarfs,  and  knows  full  well  the  charm  there  is  in  the  con- 
trast between  teeth  that  are  white  and  eyes  that  are  very 
black.  With  her,  smiles  and  words  are  inseparably  con- 
nected, and  she  makes  no  blunders  in  the  distribution  of 
either.  Every  question  is  politely  answered,  every  salu- 
tation is  gracefully  returned.  The  water  from  the  spring 
and  the  seat  by  the  door  are  given  with  the  same  court- 
liness to  all  who  ask,  and  with  an  utter  contradiction  of 
all  the  rules  of  sensibility,  her  brown  cheek  tinges  with 
a  blush  which  would  become  the  modesty  of  a  country 
bride.  America  is  the  only  land  which  possesses  that  life 
which  produces  a  class  unique  in  the  history  of  char- 
acter. All  the  women  of  the  border  partake  largely  of 
their  surroundings,  and  are  ignorant,  awkward  and  dis- 
courteous in  direct  proportion  to  their  isolation, — all 
except  the  Senorita.  Lacking  totally  all  the  sterling 
qualities  of  her  white-haired  and  blue-eyed  sister,  she 
lacks  also  her  awkwardness.  It  is  in  the  race.  The 
sturdy  conquerors  of  the  wilderness  came  not  from  the 
south.  They  have  need  only  of  strength. 

In  the  Mexican  woman  there  is  a  curious  suggestion  of 
something  oriental.  There  is  a  sinuous  grace  of  move- 
15 


218  LA   SENORITA. 

merit,  a  lazy  contentment  with  surroundings,  a  perfect 
confidence  in  the  apparent  philosophy  of  life,  and  an 
unwavering  faith  in  the  perfection  and  completeness  of 
her  religious  belief.  Her  domestic  surroundings  are  such 
as  she  would  have  them,  and  she  knows  of  no  better. 
There  is  no  more  complete  domestic  system  than  hers, 
and  she  is  thoroughly  proficient  in  all  the  arts  of  home 
life.  In  her  house  there  are  no  chairs,  no  closets,  no 
stoves,  no  tin  utensils  and  no  soap.  Her  feats  of  cook- 
ery are  performed  in  porous  earthen  basins,  and  the 
frijoles  steam  and  bubble  in  a  corner  of  the  narrow  hearth 
for  two  days.  She  makes  bread,  white  and  beautiful, 
without  yeast  or  the  bicarbonate  nuisance.  Her  mat- 
tress is  of  wool,  her  rug  a  sheep-skin,  her  bed  often  a 
bank  of  earth  against  the  wall,  and  she  is  ignorant  of  the 
use  of  that  babyish  luxury,  a  rocking-chair.  When  she 
smiles  and  says  "  sientise,  Senor,"  she  means  that  you 
should  do  that  which  an  Anglo-Saxon  never  accomplished 
with  any  satisfaction  to  himself,  namely,  sit  or  lie  upon 
a  mat.  Her  ideas  in  the  matter  of  dress  are  peculiar. 
So  that  her  head,  and  the  greater  part  of  her  face  be 
concealed,  it  matters  little  for  bust,  arms  and  ankles. 
In  two  hundred  years  she  has  not  forgotten  the  use  of 
the  scarf.  It  is  her  indispensable  adornment.  Bonnet 
and  hat  are  not  in  her  vocabulary,  of  stays  she  is  utterly 
ignorant,  and  a  high-heeled  shoe  she  never  saw ;  and  yet 
this  creature  is  a  civilized  woman.  She  affects  ribbons, 
and  in  the  matter  of  colors  is  the  original  Dolly  Varden. 
She  has  a  care  for  her  complexion,  and  in  the  earlier 
hours  of  the  morning  may  sometimes  be  caught  with  her 
face  hideously  encrusted  with  white  clay.  The  dance  ia 
her  passion,  and  her  ear  is  ever  alert  to  the  thin  strains 
of  the  guitar.  The  festive  hall  is  splendid  with  strips  of 


LA   SENORITA.  219 

red  calico,  and  brilliant  with  tallow-dips.  The  equipages 
which  stop  the  way  are  not  especially  magnificent,  being 
only  a  stupid  assemblage  of  donkeys.  Three  of  the 
belles  of  the  ball  can  find  place  upon  the  back  of  a  single 
one,  and  she  is  indeed  aristocratic  who  has  an  animal  to 
herself  and  some  one  to  lead  him  in  state  through  the 
rambling  street. 

The  Senorita  lacks  none  of  the  essentials  of  common 
decency,  in  the  conduct  of  her  domestic  affairs.  Her 
hearth  is  neat,  her  cookery  savory,  and  her  garments  as 
white  as  snow.  She  is  a  careful  housewife,  as  her  hus- 
band is  a  careful  farmer,  and  her  sole  extravagance  is  in 
the  way  of  personal  adornment.  To  look  pretty  is  as 
much  the  constant  endeavor  of  this  isolated  woman,  as 
it  is  that  of  the  frequenter  of  the  opera,  or  the  wall- 
flower at  a  state  reception.  She  is  an  arrant  and  incur- 
able coquette,  and  often  combines  with  all  her  feminine 
trickery  a  beauty  which  by  no  means  suffers  when  com- 
pared with  that  of  those  accustomed  to  more  aristocratic 
masculine  worship. 

The  celebrated  female  known  as  the  "  peasant-girl," 
which  the  story-tellers  and  sketch- writers  have  used  with 
such  telling  effect,  has  her  home,  as  far  as  most  of  us 
know,  in  the  vineyards  of  southern  France,  the  hills  of 
Normandy  or  the  valleys  of  Switzerland.  Surely  no  one 
has  lighted  upon  such  a  creature  anywhere  in  the  United 
States.  But  she  is  here.  You  may  see  her  at  the  door 
by  the  roadside  any  morning.  She  stands  at  the  great 
gate  of  the  hacienda  as  you  pass,  and  would  fain  sell  you 
eggs  and  goat's  milk.  You  see  her  watching  the  goats 
and  donkeys  in  the  glades,  or  carrying  water  from  the 
spring  upon  her  head.  We  will  not  say  of  her  what  is 
unfortunately  true  of  her  elder  sisters,  and  pleasantly 


220  LA    SENORITA. 

remember  her  as  the  redeeming  member  of  her  race  and 
family.  She  is  but  a  developed  child,  simple,  picturesque, 
content.  She  stands  alone  among  the  children  of  the 
frontier  as  one  whose  face  is  not  chalky  and  freckled, 
whose  limbs  are  not  attenuated  and  whose  hair  is  not 
white.  Her  feet  are  bare  in  the  grass,  and  the  two  long 
braids  of  black  hair  are  as  yet  unconcealed  by  the  odious 
rebosa.  She  wears  only  a  short  skirt  and  that  other  inti- 
mata  vesture  of  white  texture  and  scant  pattern,  so  well- 
known  and  so  seldom  mentioned.  But  she  is  unconscious 
of  any  possible  want  of  further  covering.  It  is  a  unique 
combination  of  innocence  and  traffic,  for  the  gathered 
skirt  is  full  of  eggs,  and  she  pipes  as  you  pass  :  "  'wavas 
Senor, — mucho  fresco  !"  She  laughs  as  she  says  it.  It  is 
her  normal  condition  to  be  merry,  and  as  you  pass  on, 
the  most  sour  and  sober  of  a  sour  and  sober  race  could 
scarce  be  blamed  for  his  recollection  of  a  brown  and 
comely  face,  round  limbs,  unspoiled  innocence,  and  a 
pretty  mouthful  of  teeth  which  shine  in  a  habitual  smile. 
It  were  well  that  this  picture  of  Mexican  life  might 
remain  unchanged,  and  that  the  haggard  woman  of  forty 
everywhere  seen  with  no  trace  of  the  innocence  of  youth 
in  her  face,  could  have  come  to  what  she  is  only  through 
hardship  and  natural  decay.  No  one  needs  to  be  informed 
that  if  affairs  go  on  as  they  now  are,  there  will  soon  be 
no  descendant  of  the  Spaniard  on  this  side  the  water  to 
describe.  It  would  seem  that  the  decay  of  his  race  was 
fallen  upon  him,  far  distant  among  the  mountains  of  a 
conquered  province.  Daily  it  is  growing  harder  to  be- 
lieve what  is  nevertheless  true,  that  the  Senorita  of  New 
Mexico  is  the  direct  descendant  of  those  dames  which 
have  played  no  inconsiderable  part  in  the  history  of  glory 
and  the  loves  of  kings.  Sadly  fallen  indeed,  both  at 


LA   SENORITA.  221 

home  and  here,  are  the  daughters]  of  a  land  from  which 
sprung  Isabella  and  Catherine,  Cervantes  and  Loyola: 
the  land  to  whose  soil  the  crusader  and  the  Jesuit  are 
alike  indigenous ;  where  Philip  reigned  and  the  Inquisi- 
tion flourished,  and  whose  conquests  have  marked  the 
new  world  with  an  indelible  stain  alike  of  power  and 
avarice,  and  nurtured  for  centuries  an  equal  and  com- 
mingled growth  of  religion  and  debauchery. 


PEG. 


IT  outen  hyar,  Peg  Watkins !  Ef  I  come  thar  to 
you,  Pll — ,''  and  there  was  a  sound  as  of  a  broom 
alighting  upon  the  brushy  end,  and  the  handle  thereof 
striking  the  outer  wall  with  a  vigorous  thwack. 

"  Now,  in  the  name  of  wonder,  who  can  this  much- 
berated  female  be,"  mused  the  Doctor,  as  he  heard  the 
words  and  their  accompanying  emphasis.  The  doctor 
was  the  latest  arrival.  He  was  strange  to  the  post  and 
all  its  surroundings,  having,  only  six  weeks  before,  en- 
tered into  a  solemn  contract  with  the  high  and  mighty 
Medical  Director,  in  the  city  of  Philadelphia,  to  do  duty 
as  Acting  Assistant  Surgeon,  U.  S.  A.,  at  any  post  to 
which  he  might  be  ordered,  and  to  regularly  receive 
therefor  the  compensation  of  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
five  dollars  per  month,  quarters  and  a  ration.  The  doctor 
was  not  in  delicate  health,  and  did  not  think  that  the 
frontier  might  restore  a  shattered  constitution.  This  was 
what  most  of  his  kind  reported  of  themselves,  together 
with  other  details  of  an  extensive  practice  and  influential 
connections,  and  the  regrets  which  naturally  fill  a  sensi- 
tive man's  mind  under  such  circumstances.  But  the 
brusk,  sunburned  fellows  who  were  to  be  his  associates 
had  known  many  acting  assistant  surgeons  in  the  same 
circumstances,  and  were  not  to  be  imposed  upon.  A 
new  doctor  means  to  the  officers  of  a  frontier  post  a 
something  out  of  which  a  considerable  amount  of  fun, 
some  hospital  brandy  and  some  service  is  hereafter  to  be 
had,  and  he  is  welcomed  and  treated  accordingly. 


PEG.  223 

When  the  doctor  had  alighted  from  the  ambulance, 
three  days  before,  his  appearance  was  as  startling  in  these 
solitudes  as  though  he  had  just  escaped  from  another 
world — which,  in  fact,  he  in  some  sense  had.  He  was 
dressed  in  grey  cassimeres,  an  English  walking-coat,  and, 
to  crown  all,  a  tall  white  hat  of  the  "plug"  kind,  deeply 
and  solemnly  bound  with  black.  The  air  of  Chestnut 
Street  and  the  Continental  Hotel  seemed  to  emanate 
from  him,  as  he  stood  there  looking  through  the  inevi- 
table spectacles  at  the  curious  place  which  was,  for  an 
unknown  time,  to  be  his  home.  A  group  of  swaggering 
fellows,  all  clad  in  blue,  and  each  wearing  the  emblem  of 
some  military  grade  upon  his  shoulder,  sauntered  towards 
him  from  the  trader's  store.  "  Look  at  Pills,"  said  one ; 
"  See  that  tile,"  remarked  a  second ;  "  Bad  health — large 
practice,"  remarked  a  third,  epitomizing  the  usual  story. 
But  they  ceased  to  laugh  as  they  came  nearer,  and 
greeted  him  with  that  solemn  courtesy  which  is  the  usual 
result  of  mistaken  calculations  with  regard  to  an  expected 
associate,  dissipated  at  first  sight.  As  those  kind-hearted 
and  careless  fellows  shook  hands  with  "  Pills,"  one  by 
one,  the  prospect  for  "  fun"  out  of  a  greenhorn  did  not 
seem  a  very  brilliant  one.  The  new  doctor  was  a  kind 
of  blonde  Xazarite,  whose  face,  it  seemed,  had  never 
known  razor.  He  was  so  large  that  the  men  around  him 
looked  up  into  his  open  eyes,  and  felt  for  a  minute  after- 
wards the  impression  of  a  hand  that  was  anything  but 
velvet.  "  Bad  health,"  remarked  Thomson  to  his  com- 
panions, shortly  after:  "bad  health  be  d — d." 

"With  the  air  of  a  man  to  whom  nothing  is  strange 
which  time  and  circumstances  bring  about,  the  doctor  sat 
oiling  his  gun  when  the  broom  was  thrown  at  Peg  Wat- 
kins.  The  voice  and  the  weapon,  he  knew,  were  the 


224  PEG. 

especial  property  of  the  octoroon  who  did  the  culinary 
offices  of  the  mess.  But  having  been  here  but  three  days, 
he  might  not  have  seen  all  the  females  of  the  post.  So, 
with  the  reflection  mentioned,  he  rose  and  walked  to  the 
door  in  expectation  of  seeing  this  creature,  who  had  ap- 
parently been  stealing  something,  make  a  hasty  exit  from 
the  rear  of  the  premises.  What  he  did  see  was  this :  an 
immense  yellow-and-white  dog,  who,  with  her  bristles 
standing  like  a  roach  along  her  back,  her  head  turned 
aside  with  that  curious  pretence  of  looking  the  other  way 
which  angry  canines  are  apt  to  practise,  and  the  pendent 
lip  drawn  away  from  her  wide,  square  jaws,  displayed  a 
'glittering  phalanx  of  ivory  to  some  antagonist  at  the 
kitchen  door.  Then  this  was  the  trespasser.  The  doctor 
laughed  as  he  thought  of  it;  Peg  was  only  a  dog. 

But  he  was  one  of  those  men  who  have  an  extensive 
acquaintance  among  the  hairy  beasts  who,  in  all  ages 
and  races,  have  chosen  to  be  spurned,  beaten,  misunder- 
stood and  murdered  as  the  friends  and  humble  followers 
of  man,  rather  than  to  live  in  savage  independence  with- 
out him.  As  he  watched  her  with  an  amused  expression 
in  his  face,  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  shaggy  creature 
was  one  who  possessed  more  than  ordinary  share  of 
canine  character.  "Come  here,  Peg;  come,  old  girl," 
said  he,  and  held  out  his  hand.  Peg  was  visibly  discon- 
certed, and  lowered  her  bristles,  and  looked  astonished 
at  hearing  her  name  called  in  a  tone  of  kindness,  Then 
she  crept  humbly  towards  her  new  friend,  and  when  she 
felt  the  touch  of  his  hand,  fairly  grovelled  in  the  dust 
before  him,  and  finally  followed  him  into  the  house.  For 
months  she  had  been  assailed  by  missiles  and  epithets, 
whenever  her  shaggy  form  appeared  in  a  doorway,  and 
had  stolen  from  the  butcher  and  the  garbage-barrel  all 


PEG.  225 

she  ate;  and  through  it  all,  she  had  lain  in  front  of  the 
sally-port  every  night,  watching  and  listening,  the  most 
vigilant  sentinel  of  the  command.  She  was  an  outcast, 
utterly  abandoned,  and  only  through  inadvertence  per- 
mitted to  live.  As  she  crouched  close  beside  the  walls, 
with  forlorn  countenance,  and  haggard,  watchful  eye,  it 
seemed,  had  any  cared  to  notice,  that  she  felt,  with  such 
a  feeling  as  her  human  masters  often  want,  her  utter 
ignominy  and  disgrace.  Now,  in  less  than  two  hours 
after  her  acquaintance  with  him,  she  lay  in  the  twilight 
at  the  doctor's  door  with  self-conscious  importance,  and 
disputed  the  entrance  of  the  commandant  himself.  So 
are  dogs — and  men — wont  to  forget  themselves  upon  a 
sudden  change  of  fortune. 

There  is  a  road,  a  monotonous  and  desolate  line  across 
the  desert,  which  leads  westward  from  the  Rio  Grande. 
Over  this  have  passed  hundreds  who  never  reached  the 
end,  and  thousands  who,  if  they  did,  never  cared  to 
return.  Over  plateaux  where  the  tall  cacti  stand  like 
ghosts,  through  canons  Indian-haunted  and  lined  with 
graves  and  crosses,  the  brown  track  stretches  for  hun- 
dreds of  lonesome  miles.  But  it  is  not  wanting  in  travel. 
Here,  through  the  long  summer,  the  thousands  of  long- 
horned,  thirsty  Texas  cattle  drag  their  gaunt  limbs  along 
on  the  journey  to  California.  Here  is  the  man  whose 
destiny  it  is  to  wander  from  place  to  place  through  life 
unsatisfied,  surrounded  by  his  dozen  white-haired  and 
boggle-eyed  urchins,  who  probably  were  born  by  the 
roadside,  and  ever  accompanied  by  the  woman  whose 
troubles  are  cured  by  a  cob  pipe,  and  whose  amazing 
fecundity  seems  no  hinderance  to  emigration.  Sometimes, 
too,  there  are  those  who  have  a  definite  and  more  thought- 
ful purpose  in  wandering,  and  who  run  away  from  family 


226  PEG. 

difficulties,  mothers-in-law  and  old  associations.  But  to 
all,  California  is  still  the  land  of  gold,  and  all  underesti- 
mate beforehand  the  length  and  the  peril  of  the  road  and 
the  hard  facts  which  lie  at  the  end.  But  thus,  for  some 
inscrutable  purpose  directed  by  Providence,  do  Southern 
Arkansas,  Texas  and  others  of  the  Southern  States  empty 
themselves  of  their  unstable  population. 

Some  months  before  the  doctor's  arrival,  several  fami- 
lies of  such  had  camped  at  the  spring,  whose  semi-circular 
disc  of  stone  opened  the  tepid  water  to  light,  a  few  hun- 
dred yards  from  the  southern  wall.  The  circumstance 
was  not  an  unusual  one,  and  would  have  attracted  no 
attention  had  not  the  party  stayed  so  long,  and  possessed 
some  unusual  attractions.  They  wanted  an  escort  of 
soldiers,  and  waited  until  the  return  of  a  scouting  party, 
so  that  the  troops  might  be  spared  them.  The  men  were 
well-dressed  and  independent,  and  the  women  were 
some  of  them  comely,  and  all  of  them  exclusive.  There 
was  one  tall  girl  who  attracted  universal  attention,  as 
well  on  account  of  her  beauty  as  her  exclusiveness,  who 
turned  a  cold  eye  upon  Thomson  himself,  who  in  his  day 
had  been  (the  world  of  a  soldier  must  be  taken  in  this 
matter,)  a  famous  woman-tamer.  Tuck,  the  butcher's 
man, — "  contractor's  agent"  he  designated  himself, — had, 
with  cosmopolitan  impudence,  visited  the  new-comers' 
camp  the  first  evening,  and  straightway  fallen  desperately 
in  love  with  this  young  woman,  and  would  have  been 
willing  to  have  been  married  to  her  then  and  there  under 
a  cotton  wood  by  the  post-adjutant,  only  that  when  he 
ventured  upon  a  conversation  with  her  she  not  only 
failed  to  reply,  but  puckered  her  pretty  face  and  ques- 
tioned of  the  man  who  seemed  to  be  her  father  if  they 
had  not  unfortunately  camped  in  the  vicinity  of  the 


PEG.  227 

slaughter-pen.  Miss  Margaret,  the  rest  of  them  called 
her,  and  though  thereafter  Tuck  called  her  "  stuck-up," 
he  nevertheless  worshipped  Miss  Margaret  from  afar. 
She  "  didn't  do  nothing"  he  said,  and  he  noticed  that 
when  she  was  not  reading  a  book  whose  binding  sug- 
gested a  different  kind  of  literature  from  that  to  which 
he  was  accustomed,  she  sat  apart,  with  her  white  hands 
in  her  lap,  and  looked  very  unhappy  indeed. 

By  and  by  it  was  suspected  that  Miss  Margaret  held 
no  relationship,  unless  a  very  distant  one,  to  any  of  the 
party.  The  gallant  and  polite  officers  of  the  post  were 
treated  by  her  with  some  consideration,  and  they  made, 
or  suspected  at  least,  this  discovery.  Thomson  averred 
that  she  was  a  well-educated  Northern  girl,  one  of  his  own 
kind,  who  had  gone  South  as  a  school-mistress,  and  been 
jilted  by  some  person  to  the  said  Thomson  unknown. 
He  acknowledged  that  she  had  not  told  him  so,  or  in  any 
way  given  him  her  confidence.  But  the  acute  Thomson 
guessed  it;  and  by  George!  it  was  a  shame.  When 
asked  politely  if  she  intended  making  a  residence  in  far- 
off  California,  she  said  she  did  not  know,  and  hinted  that 
she  did  not  care.  The  longer  the  party  stayed,  the  more 
imminent  became  the  prospect  of  a  sensation  of  some 
kind,  on  account  of  a  fair-haired  and  blue-eyed  young 
woman  who  had  captivated  all  hands,  down  to  the 
butcher's-man.  There  had  never  been  in  these  parts  a 
sojourner  upon  the  longest  and  most  desolate  road  in  the 
world,  whose  footsteps  were  so  dainty,  who  wore  white 
skirts  and  collars,  and  who  coiled  her  yellow  hair  with 
such  feminine  grace  upon  a  shapely  head.  But  she  was 
strange.  She  was  in  a  sense  homeless  among  her  com- 
panions. Disregarding  the  apparent  danger,  she  took 
long  walks  alone,  and  Tuck  stated  long  afterwards  that 


228  PEG. 

he  once  saw  her  far  down  towards  the  canon,  sitting 
upon  a  boulder  in  the  moonlight,  apparently  "  thinkin'," 
and  that  beside  her,  alert  and  watchful,  sat  her  sole  com- 
panion upon  such  occasions,  an  ugly,  yellow  dog,  who 
had  always  seemed  to  have  an  especial  dislike  to  the 
contractor's  agent. 

One  night  after  "  tattoo,"  the  man  with  whose  family 
Miss  Margaret  seemed  to  be  connected,  came  breathless 
to  the  commandant,  with  the  statement  that  she  had 
"  gone  walkin' "  early  in  the  evening,  and  had  not  re- 
turned. Nor  did  she  ever  return.  The  most  accom- 
plished trailer  of  the  post  failed  to  account  for  the  direct 
means  of  her  taking  off.  After  a  day  and  a  night  of 
fruitless  search,  all  efforts  were  abandoned  as  useless, — 
as  indeed  they  seemed  to  be,  without  a  track  through 
pathless  wildness, — and  thereafter  the  very  theme  was 
avoided,  as  a  horrible  reminiscence  whose  every  detail 
was  expressed  by  the  one  fateful,  whispered  word, 
"  Apaches." 

But  was  it  accounted  for  by  that  word?  Had  her 
darkling  walks  ended  in  sudden  capture  and  a  fate  worse 
than  death  ?  Mariano  said  not,  and  he  knew.  The  scout 
declared  that  there  had  not  been  an  Indian  near  the  emi- 
grant's camp,  nor  between  there  and  the  canon  for  three 
moons.  Men  would  sometimes  arrive  at  conclusions 
more  nearly  correct  if  they  would  study  probabilities  less, 
and  improbabilities  more.  If  the  commandant  had  been 
asked  if  there  was  any  other  means  by  which  Miss  Mar- 
garet could  have  been  spirited  away,  he  would  have  said 
unhesitatingly,  no.  And  yet  there  was.  Every  Friday 
night,  at  an  hour  when  the  wilderness  itself  seemed 
asleep,  there  came  rattling  down  the  hill  from  the  east- 
ward, a  canvas-covered  vehicle  drawn  by  four  vicious 


PEG.  229 

little  mules.  The  officer  of  the  day  often  heard  its 
driver's  coyote-bark,  by  which  he  roused  the  sleepy  deni- 
zens of  the  trader's  store,  as  he  approached.  The  sen- 
tinel, as  he  walked  back  and  forth  before  the  sally-port, 
watched  it  as  it  paused  for  a  moment  at  the  door,  and 
heard  the  leathern  mail-bag  fall  upon  the  gravel.  A 
sleepy  word  or  two  between  the  driver  and  the  trader's 
clerk,  the  shutting  of  a  door,  the  renewed  grinding  of 
wheels,  and  the  overland  stage  had  come  and  gone  so 
quickly  in  the  darkness  that  it  seemed  doubtful  when 
daylight  came  if  such  an  institution  existed.  Sometimes 
there  were  passengers,  but  not  often.  Occasionally  a 
desperate  man  whose  absolute  necessities  called  him 
across  a  continent,  loaded  himself  with  weapons,  and  ran 
the  gauntlet  of  danger  in  the  "  Overland."  People  won- 
dered sometimes,  why  or  how  the  line  was  run  at  all. 
The  doubt  was  hardly  a  pertinent  one.  Some  hundreds 
of  thousands  of  dollars  for  a  weekly  mail-service,  coupled 
with  a  contract  that  the  coach  must  carry  passengers, 
will  accomplish  wonders. 

The  old  man  who  reported  Miss  Margaret's  taking  oft* 
to  the  commandant,  confessed  that  she  was  not  related  to 
him  or  to  his  family  ;  that  she  became  connected  with 
them  in  Eastern  Texas,  by  being  a  teacher  in  his  neigh- 
borhood. She  had  means,  he  said,  was  "offish  an' 
book-larned,"  had  started  with  them  to  California  be- 
cause she  seemed  to  have  some  concealed  purpose  in 
going,  and  added  that  "  she  never  tuk  to  him  or  his 
family  much,  and  war  a  leetle  quare  in  her  ways."  He 
probably  forgot  to  state  that  on  the  night  of  her  departure 
she  had  told  the  whole  party  distinctly  that  they  would, 
in  her  opinion,  never  see  California,  and  in  terse  and  ele- 
gant terms,  expressed  her  opinion  of  the  slowness  of 


230  PEG. 

Texans  in  general,  and  these  in  particular.  He  also 
failed  to  state  that  she  had  taken  a  travelling-bag,  but 
left  behind  an  immense  trunk,  which,  with  all  its  un- 
known finery,  might  be  regarded  as  a  legacy  to  his 
carrot-headed  daughters.  In  fine,  Miss  Margaret's  guar- 
dian lied.  The  next  day  the  emigrant  party  left  the  post, 
going  westward. 

More  than  a  week  after  these  things  had  occurred,  and 
the  tender  hearts  of  the  gallant  gentlemen  of  the  garrison 
had  settled  down  to  subdued  regretfulness  for  Miss 
Margaret's  supposed  fate,  as  Tuck  was  plying  his  avoca- 
tion at  the  slaughter-pen  in  the  early  morning,  he  was 
startled  by  the  apparition  of  an  immense  yellow-and- 
white  mastiff,  gaunt,  haggard  and  nearly  starved,  who 
came  crouching  towards  him,  urged  by  hunger,  mutely 
begging  for  a  bare  smell  of  the  fresh  meat  in  which  the 
churl  was  at  work.  He  stopped,  astonished,  for  he  had 
no  great  difficulty  in  recognizing  Miss  Margaret's  surly 
guardian.  He  stood  with  his  bloody  hands  upon  hiB 
hips,  and  as  he  looked  he  conceived  a  new  hatred  for  the 
beast  for  her  mistress'  sake.  u  You  kin  come  back,  kin 
you?  Drat  yer  ugly  eyes,"  and  he  threw  a  stone  at  her. 
The  poor  creature  yelped  and  limped  away  towards  the 
post,  too  sore,  tired  and  hungry  to  even  show  her  teeth 
to  the  other  beast  who  would,  in  the  midst  of  food,  deny 
a  useless  bone  to  a  starving  dog.  When  he  saw  her 
again  he  said,  "  There  goes  that  Peg."  This  was  cun- 
ning irony  on  the  part  of  the  brilliant  Tuck,  and  he 
laughed  loudly  and  hoarsely  at  the  thought  that  the 
friendless  dog  should  hereafter  bear  the  nickname  of  her 
lost  mistress.  Then,  because  the  name  of  Miss  Mar- 
garet's protector  was  understood  to  have  been  Watkins, 
the  servant  girl,  with  something  of  the  drollery  peculiar 


PEG.  231 

to  her  race,  had  called  her  "  Peg  Watkins"  the  evening 
she  became  the  doctor's  friend. 

As  time  passed  the  doctor  dissipated  all  the  theories 
npon  which  the  officers  of  the  post  had  based  their  pre- 
conclusions  as  to  what,  as  a  "  contract  doctor,"  he  ought 
to  be,  and  confirmed  the  impression  he  had  given  upon 
first  sight.  He  accommodated  himself  to  surroundings 
which  might  well  be  considered  curious,  in  an  hour's 
time.  He  had  travelled  much,  knew  men  very  well,  and 
was  cool  in  all  emergencies.  He  was  not  afraid  of  sun 
or  rain,  was  a  keen  hunter  and  an  excellent  companion, 
and  could  tell  stories  like  Othello  himself.  He  knew 
the  miner  in  California,  the  ranchman  in  Texas,  and  was 
equally  at  home  in  Paris  or  Vienna.  His  companions 
respected  him  at  first,  and  afterwards  liked  him  well. 
As  a  physician,  he  was  careful,  bold,  and  gentle  as  a 
woman.  But  there  was  something  about  the  man  that, 
after  all,  they  could  not  understand.  Thomson  remarked 
that  he  never  talked  of  women  in  any  way,  and  although 
the  very  kind  of  man,  the  gallant  lieutenant  thought,  who 
was  apt  to  have  large  experience  in  that  line,  he  had  no 
past  flirtations  to  detail  to  his  auditors.  One  night,  soon 
after  his  arrival,  the  presence  of  the  outcast  mastiff  at  his 
feet,  suggested  the  story  of  Miss  Margaret.  He  only 
said,  "Eh!  Margaret?"  and  relapsed  into  thoughtful 
silence.  In  other  respects  he  was  strange,  and  like  many 
men  of  his  kind,  lived  largely  within  himself.  He  was 
always  content,  and  even  pleased  to  be  alone.  Often, 
accompanied  by  Peg,  he  passed  the  sentinel  at  midnight, 
coming  in  from  some  purposeless  wandering.  He  was 
not  unaccustomed  to  the  life  of  the  frontier.  Only  a  year 
ago  he  had  left  California,  and  within  a  few  months  had 
been  in  Texas.  He  did  not  state  the  object  of  his  wan- 


23.2  PEG. 

derings  but  his  conversation  left  the  impression  upon  his 
auditors  that  he  was  either  running  away  from  or  chasing 
an  indefinite  object  around  the  world.  Often,  far  in  the 
night,  when  the  officer  of  the  day  in  his  round  passed  the 
doctor's  window,  he  could  see  the  lonely  gentleman  sit- 
ting in  the  flickering  candle-light,  and  Peg  crouched 
watchfully  in  the  open  window.  "  Come  here,  Margaret, 
old  girl,"  he  could  hear  him  say,  and  the  surly  dog  would 
indulge  in  clumsy  demonstrations  of  joy,  and  placing  her 
huge  paws  upon  the  doctor's  breast,  thrust  her  square 
muzzle  into  his  very  beard.  Her  master  was  not  a  dis- 
ciple of  Tuck's,  and  in  the  matter  of  nicknames  thought 
proper  to  reverse  the  matter,  and  that  was  all. 

The  understanding  between  the  brute  and  the  man 
was  so  remarkable  as  to  attract  considerable  attention. 
Wherever  the  doctor's  footsteps  led  him,  the  dog  awk- 
wardly waddled  behind.  Peg  was  now  clean,  well-fed, 
and  carried  her  content  to  the  extreme  of  being  somewhat 
saucy.  Her  master  was  her  universe,  and  she  cared  for 
nothing  and  no  one  else.  The  denizens  of  the  post 
might  pat  her  on  the  head  if  they  would,  and  she  recip- 
rocated by  hardly  so  much  as  the  wagging  of  her  tail. 
Hundreds  of  times  her  name  was  called  from  open  doors, 
and  across  the  parade-ground.  She  simply  turned  her 
head  in  careless  inquiry,  and  walked  slowly  in  the  oppo- 
site direction.  All  this  may  have  been  a  kind  of  dignified 
revenge  for  past  indignities,  for  she  had  the  general  good 
at  heart.  Often  in  the  watches  of  the  night  her  bark 
came  back  from  the  hills  sounding  like  a  human  halloo. 
There  was  a  legend  that  she  never  slept.  But  she  did — 
at  mid-day,  on  the  doctor's  bed. 

The  saying  that  "  time  at  last  makes  all  things  even" 
is  only  poetry,  which  is  generally  far  from   true.     But 


PEG. 

there  was  a  notable  instance  in  which  the  axiom  was 
demonstrated.  Tuck  possessed  two  curs  as  ugly  as  him- 
self, one  of  which  was  of  Peg's  own  sex.  Early  one 
morning,  as  he  went  to  his  avocation,  they  three  met  Peg 
walking  with  great  dignity  beside  the  wall.  With  his 
dogs  behind  him,  Tuck  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to 
utter  a  vicious  "  sick  'rn."  With  much  more  valor  than 
judgment  the  butcher's  dogs  rushed  to  the  onset.  If  Peg 
was  frightened  she  made  no  sign  of  it,  and  dealing  with 
one  antagonist  at  a  time,  quietly  took  the  female  by  the 
neck,  and  with  one  great  shake  covered  her  white  breast 
with  her  enemy's  blood.  A  few  minutes  after  she  walked 
quietly  into  the  room  where  her  master  sat,  apparently 
unconscious  of  the  stain.  Afterwards,  when  told  of  the 
outrage  by  Tuck,  the  doctor  called  his  grim  friend  to 
him,  and  as  he  petted  her  remarked,  "Peg,  did  you  kill 
the  meat-man's  dog,  eh  ?"  And  the  "  meat-man"  went' 
away,  convinced  that  dogs  and  men  may  sometimes  have 
a  mysterious  mutuality  of  interest. 

The  months  of  summer  passed  and  autumn  came,  with 
its  nights  of  frosty  sparkle  and  moonlit  glory.  The 
walled  post,  with  its  bare  parade-ground  and  its  mo- 
notonous routine,  dulled  still  more  by  daily  use,  grew 
irksome  to  the  doctor.  No  wonder  that  he  liked  better 
to  wander  through  the  long  brilliant  evenings  among  the 
near  foot-hills,  accompanied  always  by  Peg.  His  com- 
panions had  long  since  grown  used  to  his  vagaries,  and 
paid  small  heed  to  his  absence,  while  they  whiled  the 
dull  night  away  with  friendly  poker.  True,  they  had 
concluded  long  ago  that  there  "was  something  on  the 
man's  mind,"  and  guessed,  with  how  much  truth  they 
then  little  knew,  that  the  position  of  "contract  doctor" 
16 


234  PEG. 

at  a  frontier  post  was,  to  a  man  of  his  attainments,  little 
more  than  an  excuse  to  get  away  from  himself. 

One  night  he  lay  upon  his  back  by  the  roadside,  a 
gaunt  cactus  lifting  its  thin  spire  at  his  feet,  and  Peg 
beside  him,  looking  at  the  stars.  His  thoughts  were 
dreamy,  but  they  were  busy.  This  refuge  in  the  wilder- 
ness was  not  satisfactory.  Go  where  he  would  he  could 
not  rid  himself  of  a  thought  which  had  been  with  him  so 
long  that  it  was  a  part  of  himself.  He  had  lain  there 
three  hours,  and  in  that  time  had  evolved  another  in- 
definite idea  in  regard  to  his  further  wanderings.  Pri- 
vately he  had  already  resigned  his  appointment,  and 
questioned  where  he  should  go.  "  If  I  could  only  find 
her,"  he  said  as  he  rose  up,  "I  would  start  for  China." 

The  moonlight  upon  his  watch-dial  showed  one  o'clock. 
The  silence  of  the  wilderness  seemed  to  close  round  him 
impenetrably.  But  as  he  walked  towards  the  post  he 
thought  he  heard  afar  off  the  dull  rattle  of  wheels  among 
the  rocks  of  the  canon.  When  he  arrived  at  the  trader's 
store  the  sound  had  grown  louder,  and  he  paused  out  of 
mere  wakefulness  and  curiosity  until  the  phantom  mail, 
for  which  he  cared  so  little  and  had  not  yet  even  seen, 
should  come.  Soon  the  four  little  black  heads  were  dan- 
cing along  above  the  roadside  chapparal,  and  the  driver, 
his  hand  upon  his  mouth,  was  uttering  hideous  coyote- 
calls.  Jehu  seemed  merry,  for  the  mail  was  from  the 
west,  the  worst  was  passed,  and  home  and  rest  was  only 
twenty  miles  away.  That  is  a  long  distance  upon  which 
to  congratulate  one's  self,  the  moody  physician  thought ; 
but  happiness  is  only  a  relative  term.  A  strap  was  broken, 
and  while  the  driver  mended  it  and  the  sleepy  clerk  stood 
at  the  door,  Peg  inspected  the  wheels,  the  boot,  and 
cautiously,  the  heels  of  the  mules.  Presently  she  seemed 


PEG.  235 

strangely  attracted  by  something  inside.  She  stood  upon 
her  hinder  legs,  and  with  her  paws  upon  the  broken 
window-frame,  struggled,  yelping,  to  climb  up.  This 
amazed  the  doctor,  and  he  also  drew  near.  Then  a 
feminine  voice  was  heard  inside,  and  a  white  hand  ap- 
peared in  the  moonlight,  which  the  dog  devotedly  licked. 
Then  the  door  was  flung  open  and  a  woman's  face  ap- 
peared, and  before  Peg  could  effect  an  entrance  her 
shaggy  neck  was  clasped  in  feminine  arms  and  audible 
kisses  rained  upon  her  hairy  face.  "  Oh,  you  dear  old 
dog !  where  did  you  come  from  ?"  were  the  words  the 
doctor  thought  he  heard.  He  certainly  thought  it  a 
strange  proceeding  too,  as  who  would  not  ?  He  went  to 
the  window  and  said,  "  Peg — old  girl ;"  and  Peg  thumped 
her  large  tail  upon  the  bottom  of  the  coach,  and  turned 
from  one  to  the  other  and  panted,  and  seemed  agonized 
between  two  great  happinesses. 

Then  the  following  conversation  occurred,  interrupted 
by  little  gasps  and  swallowings  : 

"Doctor — Daniels!  who — who —  My  goodness!  [evi- 
dently recovering]  is  it  you  ?" 

"  Madge  —  Maggie  !  [huskily,  and  leaning  very  far 
forward]  where  have  you  been  ?" 

"Everywhere,  Sir,  [entirely  recovered,]  to  California  last.'' 

"  Well,  but  where— how  ?" 

"This  is  what  I  have  to  say  to  you,  Ed" — and  the 
woman's  voice  grew  strong  in  its  tone  of  injury  and 
right — "  that  no  matter  how  you  came  here,  or  where 
from,  you  must  go  with  me  here  and  now,  or  I  shall  just 
get  out  and  stay  here,  as  I've  a  right  to  do  I'm  sure.  And 
then  I've  been  so  far,  and  am  so  tired,  and, — and, — I 
think  I  must  be  dreaming  after  all,"  and  then  this 
Amazon  broke  down  and  sobbed. 


236  PIG. 

The  doctor  never  looked  so  earnest  at  the  bedside  of  a 
dying  man  as  he  did  at  this  moment.  He  took  off  his 
hat  solemnly,  and  the  cool  wind  played  with  his  damp 
locks.  With  his  heart  and  his  happiness  there  in  the 
shabby  coach,  he  stood  fighting  his  pride  outside.  Then 
a  hand  reached  forth  and  touched  his  shoulder,  and  a 
voice  said,  "I'm  very  sorry,  Ed;"  and  immediately  Doc- 
tor Edward  Daniels  turned  resolutely  and  climbed  into 
the  coach.  Those  four  words  decided  the  question.  He 
left  everything  behind,  caring  nothing  for  the  morning 
astonishment  of  his  late  associates ;  for  the  criticisms  of 
his  enemies  or  the  regrets  of  his  friends.  In  this  strange 
meeting  all  the  past  was  forgotten,  and  all  the  future 
glowed  with  a  new  life,  for  he  had  again  taken  by  the 
hand  a  love  which  had  been  wilful,  capricious  and  exact- 
ing, but  which,  coming  to  him  again,  he  eagerly  grasped 
with  all  its  forgiven  sins.  Jehu  had  been  listening  and 
chuckling  to  himself.  "  I  rec'n  she's  got  him,"  he  said; 
and  the  noisy  machine  rattled  away  up  the  hill  in  the 
moonlight,  with  Doctor  Daniels  and  his  wife  Margaret 
as  passengers,  and  the  dumb  friend  who  had  brought 
them  together  after  years  of  estrangement,  regret  and 
search,  lying  at  their  feet.  "  I'm  sure  it's  all  very  curi- 
ous," remarked  the  now  thoroughly  awakened  lady  an 
hour  afterwards,  "  but  her  name  is  not  Peg  at  all.  And 
Ed, — I'd  like  to  see  any  of  those  Watkins  girls  wearing 
my  dresses." 


CAPTAIN    JINKS. 


IT  is  necessary  in  the  beginning  to  caution  the  reader 
against  misapprehension.  This  chapter  does  not  con- 
template the  discussion  of  the  merits  or  peculiarities  of 
that  gem  in  the  repertory  of  the  opera  bouffe,  which  has 
some  time  since  been  sung  and  acted  to  its  death.  But 
there  is  a  deal  of  truth  told  in  broad  burlesque ;  if  it 
makes  a  palpable  impression  upon  the  public  there  must 
always  be  truth  in  the  foundation.  The  genius,  whoever 
he  may  be,  who  wrote  "  Captain  Jinks"  had  a  truthful 
portrait  in  his  mind  when  he  concocted  the  atrocious 
jingle  and  called  it  a  song.  Very  few  of  those  who  have 
heard  it,  and  still  fewer  of  those  who  have  sung  it,  ever 
saw  anything  in  it  beyond  a  little  fun,  and  an  opportunity 
for  some  stalwart  actress,  with  startling  physical  develop- 
ment and  a  wonderful  yellow  wig,  to  mince  before  the 
footlights  and  display  her  misconception  of  him  who, 
more  than  even  Dundreary,  is  the  ideal  of  gentlemanly 
snobbery. 

As  hinted,  Captain  Jinks  is  not  entirely  a  myth,  but 
there  have  been  better  conceptions  of  the  professional 
soldier  in  more  lasting  literature.  Thackeray  must  have 
watched  him  as  he  sauntered  down  the  street  and  gone 
home  and  made  a  character  of  him.  Dickens  had  an 
inkling  of  what  was  the  matter  with  him,  though  he 
leaned  rather  toward  the  more  devoted  and  more  con- 
stantly employed  naval  officer. 

It  is  more  than  probable  that  that  large  class  of  men 
who  are  idle,  careless,  dressy,  free-and-easy  and  saucy, 


238  CAPTAIN   JINKS. 

in  time  of  peace,  and  brave,  enduring,  self-sacrificing  and 
active  in  time  of  war,  are  much  the  same  the  world  over. 
There  has  ever  been  among  mankind  a  weakness  for  the 
sound  of  the  drum,  the  rustle  of  a  banner  that  repre- 
sented a  common  cause,  whatever  that  cause  might  be  ; 
the  glint  of  bullion  and  the  measured  tread  of  battalions, 
and  the  touch  of  that  slender,  glittering  thing  which  in 
all  time  has  stood  for  justice,  honor,  and  not  unfrequently 
for  that  right  which,  with  the  change  of  its  initial  letter, 
means  a  very  different  thing.  It  is  this  common  passion 
which  makes  the  varied  uniforms  of  the  world  cover 
hearts  very  nearly  alike  in  what  they  love  and  hate. 
But  there  is  one  of  whom  we  desire  to  speak,  who  of 
all  the  soldiers  of  the  world,  is  least  known  on  fashionable 
streets  and  is  most  seldom  seen  at  select  parties  and  in 
the  choice  seats  at  the  opera.  With  civilization  and  its 
pleasures  and  occupations  he  has  little  to  do.  There  are 
no  gay  seasons  and  long  leaves  for  him.  Of  all  the  homes 
along  the  far  border  of  a  growing  republic  his  home  ia 
farthest  away  and  most  isolated.  He  is  the  soldier  of  a 
country  which  has  the  brightest  and  newest  banner  of 
all,  whose  silken  folds  represent  to  him  all  there  is  of 
abstract  devotion  and  love ;  a  country  which  in  its  last 
struggle  raised  and  sent  to  the  field  the  most  intelligent, 
enduring,  undaunted  and  brilliant  armies  the  world 
probably  ever  saw;  a  country  which  in  a  single  year,  in 
the  midst  of  divided  sentiment,  could  rouse  in  her  sons 
all  the  traditional  courage,  skill,  valor  and  patriotism 
which  lurks  in  the  hearts  of  a  long  peaceful  but  a  fight- 
ing and  a  glory-loving  race.  But  in  the  end  they  sank 
again  into  the  office,  the  shop  and  the  furrow  as  myste- 
riously as  sank  the  targe  and  plaid  of  the'  followers  of 
Roderic  Dhu  upon  the  mountain-side,  and  he,  the  last 


CAPTAIN   JINKS.  239 

remainder  of  a  host,  thinks,  not  without  cause,  that  his 
cold-shouldered  country  has  almost  forgotten  him. 

Under  all  these  disadvantages  the  United  States  army 
officer  claims  intimate  kinship  with  his  brethren  of  the 
buttons  the  world  over.  There  are  none  who  wear  with 
more  jauntiness  a  modest  blue  coat  and  the  very  tightest 
and  nattiest  of  trowsers  and  boots,  or  whose  gay  little 
caps  are  more  perilously  perched  upon  the  forward  right- 
hand  corner  of  an  ambrosial  head.  In  the  matter  of 
mustaches  he  excells  the  German,  and  in  vivacity  of 
movement  he  is  beyond  the  Frenchman.  He  is  a  rattling 
shot  at  billiards  and  very  cool  and  silent  at  whist.  He 
has  an  eye  for  the  points  of  horses  and  really  and  truly 
adores  womankind  with  a  devotion  and  strength  which 
cavils  at  nothing  they  may  do,  say  or  think,  and  which, 
had  he  no  other  virtue,  would  keep  him  forever  in  the 
great  brotherhood  of  gentlemen.  He  is  isolated  and 
utterly  cut  off  from  that  world  which  is  all  there  is  to 
most  of  us,  and  his  world  comprises  only  arms,  orders 
and  duty. 

But  here  in  mountain  fastnesses  and  the  utter  and 
dreary  isolation  of  the  wilderness,  you  strangely  come 
upon  the  only  genuine  chivalry  extant  in  American  life. 
I  may  be  taken  to  task  for  this  wholesale  statement,  for 
the  over-busy,  nervous,  money-getting  citizens  of  this 
great  republic  claim  all  qualities  as  their  own.  There- 
fore I  will  explain.  Chivalry  in  its  essence  means  not  a 
careless,  but  a  very  careful  regard  for  the  opinions,  feel- 
ings and  personal  comfort  of  others,  but  more  especially 
women.  Besides  that  it  means  entire  but  polite  candor, 
and  no  tricks  in  trade  or  anything  else.  It  means  that 
the  affairs  of  life  are  conducted  "  on  honor."  Captain 
Jinks  in  the  wilderness  practises  this  and  has  practised  it 


240  CAPTAIN   JINKS. 

for  so  long  that  while  staid  and  respectable  citizens  might 
smile  contemptuously  at  his  punctiliousness,  they,  to- 
gether with  their  wives  and  daughters,  would  find  him  a 
most  pleasant  companion,  and  do  well  to  try  and  find 
time  to  imitate  some  of  his  utterly  foolish  airs. 

Do  the  gentlemen  who  sit  a-row  at  attractive  loitering 
places  on  our  public  streets  in  summer  afternoons,  rise 
up  en  masse  when  one  poor  little  woman  passes  by  ?  And 
if  they  do  not  and  are  excused  for  that,  are  they  ever 
carefully  watching  lest  some  masculine  phrase  should 
reach  her  ear,  or  the  cigar  smoke  should  blow  in  her 
face  ?  Is  a  woman's  request  a  binding  law  if  it  be  a  pos- 
sible thing  ?  Most  of  these  questions  must  be  answered 
in  the  negative.  Very  often  the  American  gentleman 
upon  the  street  accosts  his  female  friend  with  his  hat  over 
his  eyes,  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  with  a  lazy  polite- 
ness which  indicates  that  he  would  fain  have  her  think 
he  was  just  as  good  as  she.  The  knot  of  well-dressed 
vagabonds  who  own  the  adjoining  houses  and  stand  in 
the  middle  of  the  walk,  say  very  distinctly  to  every 
woman  who  has  the  courage  to  pass  through  them: 
"  home  and  to  the  dishes,  my  dear :  the  street  was  made 
for  men." 

We  may  go  further  and  leave  out  women  and  inquire 
how  Captain  Jinks  excels  us.  lie  takes  oft  his  hat  in  his 
own  office  or  room  and  does  likewise  when  he  comes  into 
yours.  He  expects  to  be  offered  a  seat,  and  if  you  let 
him  stand  he  leaves  as  quickly  as  possible  and  don't  come 
back  any  more.  He  dcn't  back-bite  and  insinuate,  and 
you  can't  tell  upon  your  first  acquaintance  with  him  what 
and  who  he  likes  and  hates.  Such  things  with  him  lead 
to  very  rapid  settlements  of  difficulties,  and  Jinks  is 
therefore,  as  we  should  all  be,  careful.  There  is  no  need 


CAPTAIN  JINKS.  241 

of  any  action  for  slander  there,  for  words  and  opinions 
are  supposed  to  be  valuable  and  are  cautiously  used. 
He  will  lend  or  give  you  anything  you  ask,  but  you 
must  not  ask.  There  are  other  things  he  will  do  upon 
proper  invitation  not  so  much  to  his  credit.  A  little  sip 
of  something  from  a  mahogany  case  is  seldom  offered  at 
the  wrong  time  o'day.  A  little  shuffling  of  a  clean  deck 
and  an  unimportant  transfer  of  green  currency  is  gen- 
erally agreeable  when  he  isn't  busy,  and  he  never  is. 
Jinks  is  frivolous,  over-polite,  nonchalant,  and  carries  a 
very  high  nose,  bnt  he  will  fight.  An  intimation  that 
he  wouldn't  would  hasten  matters  very  fast  in  that  di- 
rection. And  the  ugliest  antagonist  in  the  world,  is  this 
same  tender-handed  fop,  because  it  is  in  his  line  of  busi- 
ness. He  stands  in  the  same  relation  to  the  rest  of  man- 
kind in  this  respect  that  the  terrier  does  to  dogs;  he 
spends  no  time  in  considering  the  size  of  his  antagonist. 
But  the  science  of  projectiles  is  his  forte.  Only  of  late 
years  has  the  duello  came  to  be  looked  upon  as  wrong 
and  foolish  by  the  best  class  of  army  officers.  Elderly 
gentlemen,  lapg  since  retired  to  office  chairs,  have  recol- 
lections of  that  sort  which  they  sometimes  mention,  and 
in  these  instances  death  is  always  bargained  for,  yet  sel- 
dom achieved. 

Captain  Jinks  is  a  strictly  professional  man,  and  after 
some  years  of  military  life,  knows  more  of  his  specialty 
than  he  is  generally  given  credit  for.  There  is  a  common 
impression  that  to  own  a  commission  signed  by  the 
President  and  wear  a  blue  coat  is  to  be  a  soldier.  But 
the  traditional  routine,  the  customs,  the  business  and  the 
accurate  drill,  require  years  in  their  mastery.  The  army 
is  partially  governed  by  an  unwritten  code,  which  has  as 
much  binding  force  as  the  common  law.  You  would  not 


242  CAPTAIN   JINKS. 

suspect  that  Jinks  was  ever  a  business  man,  yet  the  great 
system  of  accountability  for  public  property  requires 
something  very  little  short  of  business  talent  for  its 
proper  comprehension.  It  is  the  most  endless  and  intri- 
cate bundle  of  tape  imaginable  to  the  beginner,  but  clear 
and  accurate  to  the  practised  quartermaster.  The  gov- 
ernment is  a  hard  creditor,  and  will  stop  Jinks'  pay  for 
an  old  padlock,  ten  years  after  the  loss  occurred,  if  things 
come  to  the  worst.  He  is  responsible  for  all  the  houses, 
and  scattered  odds  and  ends,  and  fuel  and  forage  of  a 
post  as  large  as  a  respectable  village ;  the  residence  of 
hundreds  of  people.  Wagons,  caisons,  mules,  ware- 
houses, shops,  tools  and  material  are  all  on  his  "  papers," 
and  must  be  cared  for  and  counted  and  kept  straight. 
Every  company  commander  must  be  a  business  man,  and 
has  a  running  account  with  a  hundred  men.  Military 
efficiency  means  money,  and  the  first  qualification  of  an 
army  officer  of  any  grade  or  station  is  economy  and  good 
judgment  in  the  care  of  property  and  the  spending  of 
money.  That  diligence,  care  and  accuracy,  to  say  noth- 
ing of  honesty,  are  as  much  required  here  as  in  private 
business,  the  fact  only  need  be  mentioned,  that  many 
gentlemen  who  were  not  such  extraordinary  quarter- 
masters and  commissaries,  have  since  shown  themselves 
to  be  bankers,  brokers,  etc.,  of  tolerable  efficiency. 

Nor  is  this  all.  Like  an  editor,  Jinks  must  have  a 
very  varied  and  extensive  fund  of  information.  He  is 
alike  an  autocrat  and  a  justice  of  the  peace.  lie  is  the 
head  and  leader  of  a  hundred  careless,  and  often  ignorant, 
childish  or  vicious  men.  He  learns,  during  his  inter- 
course with  them,  to  intimately  know  each  one,  though 
at  a  distance.  He  is  often  called  upon  to  exercise  the 
functions  of  priest,  physician  and  executor  to  the  same 


CAPTAIN   JINKS.  243 

man.  He  must  know  how  to  exercise  at  once  kindness 
and  firmness,  and  with  unlimited  power,  to  command  the 
fullest  respect  and  some  degree  of  love.  If  there  is  a 
foible,  a  weakness,  a  want  of  courage  or  capacity  on  the 
part  of  their  commander,  be  sure  the  ranks  will  find  it 
out. 

Jinks  and  his  companions  have  made  some  of  the  most 
daring  and  careful  explorations  of  modern  times.  They 
traversed  the  mountain  by-ways  of  the  far  west  more  than 
a  score  of  years  ago,  and  mapped  and  described  the  great 
plains  long  before  railways  and  immigration  were  thought 
of.  They  did  all  this  learnedly  and  skilfully  and  without 
any  reward.  There  is  today  a  more  accurate  knowledge 
of  the  climates,  characteristics,  geography  and  natural 
history  of  the  world  west  of  the  Missouri  in  the  United 
States  army  than  there  is  among  all  the  savans. 

Perhaps,  finally,  it  may  not  be  uninteresting  to  know 
how  Captain  Jinks  lives.  The  reign  of  monotony  and 
silence  hedges  him  in.  Nowhere,  within  reaching  dis- 
tance, are  any  of  those  things  which  make  life  pleasant. 
He  has  but  to  go  a  little  distance  from  the  flag-staff  to  be 
utterly  alone.  Yet  so  far  as  his  little  acre  of  actual  occu- 
pancy goes,  he  has  transformed  the  wilderness.  Here  is 
a  quadrangular  space,  as  neatly  kept  as  a  parlor  floor ; 
in  the  center  floats  always  the  sheeny  representative  of 
that  for  which  the  soldier  lives.  On  every  hand  are  the 
oddly-shaped  houses,  sometimes  handsome  and  costly, 
often  only  log  cabins  or  adobes.  But  you  will  find  noth- 
ing like  squalor  within.  There  is  comfort  and  neatness 
always,  and  not  unfrequently  elegance  and  a  slight  sug- 
gestion of  luxury.  As  a  rule,  Jinks  and  his  wife  care 
little  for  the  house  itself  so  that  the  furnishing  reaches 
the  proper  standard  of  comfort  and  taste.  There  are 


244  CAPTAIN   JINKS. 

books,  music,  curtains,  carpets,  a  very  well-furnished 
table  and  a  very  fair  display  of  china  and  silver.  Jinks 
is  something  of  an  epicure,  and  often  in  his  far  home 
dines  upon  dainties  which  an  alderman  could  not  pro- 
cure. He  saves  himself  from  an  hour  of  inanity  every 
afternoon  by  thinking  what  he  will  have  for  dinner,  and 
then  goes  and  asks  every  unengaged  person  he  can  find 
to  come  and  help  him  eat  it.  You  wonder  as  you  watch 
this  hospitable  soldier  in  his  meanderings  where  he  finds 
the  spice  of  content.  In  these  houses  are  elegant  and 
well-dressed  women,  though  peradventure  their  gowns 
may  not  be  strictly  in  the  fashion  and  their  social  gossip 
not  of  the  latest  sensation. 

Around  this  nucleus  cluster  the  thousand  surroundings 
and  belongings  of  civilization.  Horses  neigh  in  populous 
stables,  and  mules  bray  in  the  corral.  The  sound  of  the 
hammer  and  file  are  heard,  and  the  wood-yard  and  ware- 
house are  in  busy  operation.  There  is  the  trader's  store, 
an.  immensely  attractive  spot,  which  may  be  called  the 
club-room  of  the  border.  There  the  loafing  instinct 
which  Jinks  has  in  common  with  the  rest  of  mankind,  is 
gratified  by  the  clatter  of  ivory  balls  and  the  aroma  of 
tobacco. 

These  are  the  means  by  which  he  keeps  up  his  con- 
nection with  and  his  interest  in  the  world  which,  with  all 
its  enjoyable  things  he  has  almost  forgotten.  There  is  no 
danger  that  he  will  degenerate.  The  discipline  of  his 
daily  life  would  keep  him  from  that.  His  military  cere- 
monies are  performed  in  full  dress,  and  midnight  on  the 
lonely  guard-beat,  sees  the  inopportune  pomp  of  "  grand- 
rounds,"  as  ceremoniously  done  as  though  in  view  of  the 
commander-in-chief. 

But  do   and   say   what   we   will,   Captain  Jinks  will 


CAPTAIN   JINKS.  245 

swagger,  will  persist  in  regarding  all  professions  below 
par  in  comparison  with  his,  and  will  so  persist  in  carrying 
an  air  of  careless  superiority  with  him  wherever  he  goes, 
that  the  more  sombre-clad  and  quiet  portion  of  mankind 
must  necessarily  dislike  him.  But  we  must  be  allowed 
to  remark  that  he  would  be  a  poor  soldier,  if  he  was  not 
guilty  of  these  things.  It  is  only  when  he  is  placed  among 
civilians  that  they  are  noticeable,  and  they  are  the  direct 
result  of  a  professional  training,  of  which  a  man  cannot 
be  expected  to  divest  himself  as  he  puts  off  a  garment. 
He  is  no  soldier  who  is  not  proud  of  his  uniform,  and  in 
nine  cases  in  ten  you  will  find  the  American  soldier  an 
honest  man  and  in  its  strictest  sense,  a  gentleman.  Ilis 
life  in  peace  is  one  long  preparation  for  that  hour  of  his 
country's  need  when  he  shall  lead  the  blue  line  he  has  so 
often  drilled,  up  to  the  battery,  and  follow  the  starry 
emblem  he  has  so  often  gathered  in  his  arms  as  it  came 
down  at  the  sunset  gun,  into  the  jaws  of  death.  Every 
yeai;  he  endures  hardships  at  the  frontier  camp-fire,  of 
which  he  shows  no  sign  as  you  see  him  passing  by.  We 
cannot  blame  him  if  he  be  a  little  proud  of  the  slender 
blade  which,  after  all,  is  not  his  but  his  country's.  Let 
us  not  be  mistaken  in  our  Captain  Jinks.  Of  such  as 
he, — just  such  foppish,  careless  fellows, — have  ere  now 
grown  great  generals,  lamented  heroes,  statesmen  and 
presidents.  Useless  ornament  though  he  may  be,  and 
reminder  6f  the  strength  of  monarchies  rather  than  of 
peaceful  democracies,  time  has  been  that  a  few  more 
available  Jinkses  would  have  saved  our  country  many  a 
life  and  many  a  million  of  treasure,  when,  in  impending 
peril,  we  scarce  knew  the  equipment  of  a  camp  or  the 
duties  of  a  picket-guard. 


JORNADA   DEL  MUERTO. 


ONE  evening  about  sunset,  in  the  year  1869,  the 
vehicle  which  is  by  courtesy  called  a  coach,  drawn 
by  four  little  mules,  with  its  driver  and  expressman,  and 
four  passengers  inside,  started  out  of  Peraja  on  the  south- 
ward journey,  which  few  who  have  made  it  will  forget, 
and  which  afterwards  seems  a  strange  adventure,  under- 
taken by  night,  and  for  some  purpose  which  was  itself  a 
dream. 

Peraja  is,  as  the  name  indicates,  the  very  dogsburg  of 
a  land  of  squalid  towns.  It  is  as  though  it  had  been 
gently  shaken  in  a  blanket,  and  indiscriminately  dropped 
in  the  midst  of  a  few  acres  of  sand.  Sand  is  there  an 
element.  It  blows  through  every  chink  and  cranny,  and 
lies  ankle-deep  in  the  street.  It  pervades  all  that  is  eaten 
and  drunk  and  breathed,  and  lies  in  winrows  and  heaps. 
But  this  is  all  in  accordance  with  the  Mexican  idea,  for  a 
few  hundred  yards  away  the  ground  is  grass-grown  and 
hard,  and  that  which  stands  in  the  changing  sand  by 
chance  might  easily  have  been  placed  on  solid  earth  on 
purpose.  Worse  than  all,  it  stands  at  the  hither  end  of 
that  ninety  miles  of  treeless,  waterless  wilderness,  which 
to  many  has  been  in  fact  all  that  the  poetic  name  implies  : 
Jornada  del  muerto — "  the  journey  of  death." 

Of  the  four  passengers,  one  was  an  acting  medical 
officer  in  the  army;  one  was  a  trader;  one  a  man  who 
was  anything  and  had  no  characteristics ;  and  the  fourth, 
a  large  man  in  middle  life,  who  sat  with  his  back  to  the 
front  and  his  long  limbs  thrown  across  the  middle  seat, 


JORNADA  DEL  MDERTO.  247 

was  as  evidently  a  genuine  son  of  the  frontier  as  though 
the  fact  had  been  placarded  upon  him.  His  magnificent 
beard  was  plentifully  sprinkled  with  gray,  and  the  soles 
of  his  great  boots,  upright  before  his  audience,  seemed  as 
though  they  might  serve  for  tombstones,  if  he  should 
chance  to  follow  an  old-time  fashion  of  his  kind  and  be 
buried  in  them.  His  slouch  hat  was  pulled  low  over  a 
pair  of  gray  eyes  and  a  kindly,  honest  face,  and  he  held 
the  Winchester  gun  across  his  knee  with  that  careless 
yet  constant  grasp  which  is  one  of  the  small  signs  beto- 
kening a  man  used  to  danger,  and  accustomed  to  the 
vigilance  which  in  those  regions  becomes  a  habit. 

The  gold  and  purple  and  amber  faded,  and  the  far  snow 
grew  pink  and  gray,  then  whiter  than  before  in  the  star- 
light, and  soon  there  was  nothing  of  earth  in  the  scene 
save  the  tall  cactuses  that  took  fantastic  shapes  as  they 
nodded  in  the  light  of  the  horizon,  and  the  vague  and 
misty  undulations  of  a  wilderness  which,  clothed  in  night 
and  silence,  seemed  a  part  of  some  other  and  unreal  world. 

Four  women  together,  strange  to  each  other,  and  with- 
out a  counterpoise  of  masculinity,  would  either  keep 
silence  or  politely  disagree.  But  men  do  not;  and  by 
this  time  each  one  had  given  his  fellows  some  idea  of  who 
he  was,  where  he  was  born,  and  what  he  liked  best  of 
men,  horses,  climates  and  cookery.  Not  specifically  and 
in  order,  but  as  men  tell  such  things.  Such  revelations 
come  first  naturally.  Then  comes  a  little  modest  brag- 
ging on  the  part  of  each,  and  he  who  goes  too  far  in  that 
is  straightway  snubbed  into  snappishness  or  docility, 
either  of  which  mental  conditions  answers  the  purpose 
equally  well.  After  this  comes  silence,  yawning,  and 
finally  sleep.  Only  part  of  this  program  could  be  carried 
out  here.  Sociability  was  a  necessity,  for  if  four  men 


248  JORNADA   DEL   MUERTO. 

sleep  on  the  Jornada  they  may  never  wake  again.  No 
man  listens  to  his  neighbor's  story  or  becomes  absorbed 
in  his  own  so  intently  that  his  ear  is  not  also  alert  for  the 
far-away  galloping  or  the  sudden  shout  which  betokens 
the  Apache. 

The  intense  desire  for  something  outside  one's  own 
thoughts  is  as  universal  as  humanity.  To  this  end  is  all 
the  immense  literature  which  is  born  in  a  night  and  dies 
in  the  morning.  For  the  gratification  of  an  appetite 
which  is  insatiable,  are  the  remotest  corners  of  the  earth 
ransacked,  and  all  that  is  done  and  suffered  in  all  climes 
and  races  condensed  into  paragraphs  and  laid  even  at  the 
day-laborer's  door.  But  where  this  is  impossible  and  un- 
known, its  place  is  taken  by  an  art  the  oldest  and  most 
graceful  in  the  world — the  art  of  story-telling.  To  the 
borderer,  the  ability  to  wander  pleasantly  through  the 
past  of  his  life,  to  cause  his  limited  audience  to  see  his 
situations  as  plainly  as  he  remembers  them,  and  to  call 
out  the  laugh  or  curse  which  is  his  applause  and  reward, 
is  considered  a  matter  of  course.  The  silent  man  has  few 
friends.  But  no  man  is  asked  formally  or  in  turn  to  tell 
a  story.  He  begins  as  soon  as  he  can  get  an  audience  by 
cutting  in  on  his  neighbor's  fast- waning  discourse,  and 
he  continues  through  a  running  fire  of  comments,  jokes 
and  minor  adventures.  This,  with  the  addition  of  some 
show  of  form,  is  the  vaunted  Indian  oratory.  It  is  the 
common  characteristic  of  wild  humanity  everywhere,  and 
is  simplest  and  most  attractive  where  form  is  absent,  and 
humor  and  pathos  lack  egotism  and  consciousness. 

For  the  most  part  the  large  man  was  silent.  His  com- 
panions were  none  of  them  of  the  class  to  which  he  was 
accustomed  as  auditors.  The  trader  told  of  circum- 
stances which  had  transpired  in  a  country  neighborhood 


JORNADA   DEL   MUERTO.  249 

in  some  eastern  State,  and  duly  mentioned  the  names  and 
relationships  of  all  his  characters.  The  medical  man  told 
of  college  adventures  and  flirtations,  and  touched  a  little 
upon  science.  The  man  who  was  nothing,  and  had  no 
character,  sat  silent,  only  occasionally  throwing  in  an  in- 
terjection or  exclamation  of  wonder.  This  made  him 
popular  with  the  doctor  and  the  trader. 

Finally  that  waning,  red  morning-moon,  which  is  but 
the  ghost  of  brightness,  and  which  seems  to  steal  around 
the  verge  of  the  universe  at  late  hours  to  avoid  being 
seen,  rose  slowly  above  the  horizon  and  added  a  little 
light.  The  dreary  undulations  of  the  landscape  grew 
more  distinct.  Thirty  miles  of  the  journey  lay  behind, 
and  the  lonely  backward  track,  and  the  still  lonelier  yet 
to  come,  oppressed  the  party  with  that  vague  uneasiness 
which  some  of  them  had  never  felt  before. 

But  now  a  change  seemed  to  have  come  over  the  fron- 
tiersman. As  his  companions  grew  silent  he  grew  active. 
He  peered  curiously  out  upon  the  road,  and  seemed  in- 
tent upon  the  outlines  of  the  hills.  He  arose  and  stood 
with  his  foot  upon  the  step,  and  looked  ahead  and  be- 
hind and  close  beside  the  track.  He  excited  the  curiosity 
of  his  companions,  who  long  since  had  set  him  down  as 
stupid,  and  they  improved  the  opportunity  presented  for 
new  amusement. 

"  Ever  been  here  before  ? "  said  the  doctor. 

"  You  bet !  " 

"  Oh,"  said  the  trader,  "lived  here  ?  " 

"  I  rec'n  I  spent  ten  thousand  dollars  not  a  mile  from 
this  'ere  spot." 

"  Looking  for  it  ?" 

The  big  man  bent  his  huge  figure  beneath  the  curtains 
17 


250  JORNADA    DEL   MUERTO. 

aad  lounged  back  into  his  seat,  drew  a  long  breath, 
pushed  back  his  hat  and  remarked  : 

"  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it." 

"  Go  ahead,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  I've  heerd  you  boys  talk  for  about  six  hours.  Now 
I'm  goin'  to  talk  some  myself;  but  I  would  n't,  unless 
this  'ere  place  did  n't  remind  me  of  it.  Fust  of  all,  there 
aint  nothin' — nary  thing — in  grit  an'  pluck  an'  sense, 
and  all  that.  There  's  nothin'  but  luck — jest  luck. 

"  I  come  out  from  Missoury  to  Californy  in  '49.  They 
was  flush  times  then,  and  money  was  as  plenty  as  water, 
and  plentier.  But  a  man  could  n't  make  nothin',  and 
after  two  year  I  had  n't  much  more  money  than  I've  got 
now,  which  the  same  aint  much.  But  while  I  stayed 
there  I  spent  more,  had  more  fun  and  more  fights,  and 
cared  less,  than  any  man  in  Californy.  And  then,  as 
was  nat'ral  in  sich  cases,  things  begun  to  go  bad  with  me, 
and  times  to  git  close,  and  in  '54  I  come  down  through 
Arizony  and  them  parts.  In  Tucson,  in  two  weeks,  I 
win  ten  thousand  dollars  at  poker — luck.  Then  I  jest 
stopped  short.  I  laid  low  for  about  four  days  'tell  I  got 
a  chance,  and  then  come  on  into  this  yer  infernal  country 
with  my  money.  I  had  a  mind  to  stop  gamblin'  and  try 
an'  git  a  livin'  like  some  men  I've  heerd  of — honestly.  I 
knowed  a  man's  luck  did  n't  giner'ly  do  him  a  good  turn 
more  'n  once,  and  I  concluded  to  go  back  on  it  in  time. 
I  got  down  here  to  Cruces,  and  some  fellers  pusuaded  me 
to  come  out  here  into  this  infernal  hornado  and  dig  fur 
water.  A  passel  of  us  come  out  here  and  found  a  swale 

"  Here  the  speaker  crowded  out  again,  and  for 

some  minutes  was  engaged  in  looking  intently  for  some 
feature  in  the  landscape. 

"I  thought  I  seed  the  place,''  said  he,  as  he  resumed 
his  seat. 


JORNADA  DEL  MUEBTO.  251 

"  Where  you  left  the  money  ? "  said  the  doctor. 

"  This  thing  Pm  a  tellin'  aint  no  joke  to  me"  he  quietly 
remarked  presently.  "  Both  of  you  fellers  has  said  some- 
thin'  smart  now,  about  the  last  pile  I  ever  had, — or  am 
like  to  have, — and  the  next  smart  thing  I  propose  to  say 
myself.  As  I  was  sayin',  weTound  a  swale  where  it  looked 
damp.  Me  an'  my  party,  we  dug  an'  dug.  There  aint 
no  man  knows  any  better  'n  me  how  to  make  a  hole  in 
the  ground.  I  lamed  that  in  Californy.  But  we  didn't 
find  no  water.  Afore  we  was  through,  we  dug  all  over 
this  cussed  desert,  and  finally  I  swallered  the  fact  that  I 
had  n't  no  more  money." 

"  Is  that  so  ?"  chirped  the  medical  man. 

"  Wait  till  I  tell  you.  D — n  it,  it  riles  me  to  think  of 
it,"  thundered  the  speaker.  "  That  wan't  the  wust  of  it. 
Afore  that  missable  diggin'  I  had  gone  and — and  mar- 
ried. She  wus  the  pootiest  thing  in  Mexico.  I  tell  you 
I  aint  never  seed  no  woman  to  suit  me  sence,  and  she's — 
gentlemen, — she's  been  dead  fourteen  year,  and  that's  the 
wust  luck  I  ever  had." 

The  story-teller  cleared  his  throat  and  went  on: 
"  Well,  after  that  I  went  down  to  the  settlements  ag'in, 
and  after  that  the  Guv'ment  sent  some  people  here,  and 
they  dug  and  bored  all  over  the  country,  and  spent  thou- 
sands of  dollars,  and  didn't  find  no  water.  The  whole 
thing  looked  like  a  bad  job,  and  folks  made  up  their 
minds  to  go  without  water.  Plenty  of  'em  didn't.  This 
'ere  road  hes  been  the  end  o'  many  a  mule,  to  say  nothin' 
of  other  people.  And  now  what  do  you  think  they  tell 
me  in  Santa  Fe?  Why,  they  say'ta  man  named  Tom  suthin', 
Iforgit  what;  a  feller  that  never  had  no  luck,  a  kind  of  animile 
which  was  wuthless  when  sober  and  mean  when  drunk, 
come  out  here  last  summer  and  commenced  a  diggin', 


252  JORNADA   DEL   MUKRTO. 

and  struck  water  in  sixty  foot.  He  has  a  ranch  now,  and  a 
Guv'ment  contract,  and  a  wife  and  babies.  Congress 
giv  him  all  the  land  in  sight,  and  he's  sober,  and  makes 
money.  Aint  that  luck  ?" 

The  speaker  seemed  irritable,  and  brought  down  his 
great  fist  with  a  thump  upon  the  seat  beside  him. 

"  Why  yes,"  said  the  doctor,  "  everybody  knows  that. 
We'll  reach  the  place  about  five  o'clock.  I  wish  /  was 
there  now." 

Silent  men  sometimes  grow  preternaturally  commu- 
nicative, and  the  speaker  continued :  "  And  do  you 
know  what  I  come  down  here  for  ?  Don't  ?  Well  I'll 
tell  you.  'Cause  I'm  a  fool.  There's  people  that  visits 
graveyards  and  things  where  thur  friends  is.  I'm  goin' 
back,  now,  to  see  if  I  kin  find  my  cimetry.  I've  tried 
everything  else  since  I  was  there  last,  and  sometimes  I've 
concluded  I'd  nigh  about  forgot  it.  'Pears  to  me  I'm 
gittin'  old  now,  and  the  hankerin'  comes  stronger.  I 
don't  know  where  the  grave  is  I'm  a  huntin.'  P'raps 
there  ain't  none ;  but  I  want  to  see  the  place  where, — 
ahem — I  lost  my  woman  I  hadn't  had  a  year." 

The  strong  man  seemed  to  be  growing  strangely  weak. 
He  breathed  hard,  and  nervously  fanned  himself  with  his 
hat.  Then  he  sat  for  a  few  minutes  looking  dreamily 
out,  and  in  the  midst  of  his  reverie,  muttered  discon- 
nected anathemas  upon  the  Apaches.  After  a  while  he 
continued : 

"  You  see  I  went  back  to  the  settlements  from  here, 
and  jined  a  party  goin'  back  to  Californy.  I  tuk  what 
little  I  had  left,  and  owned  one  team  out'n  the  twenty- 
eight  which  was  in  the  train, — me  an'  my  wife.  I  wan't 
broke  any  then.  I  was  big  an'  strong,  and  didn't  mind 
my  luck  much  it  seemed  like.  We  got  a  fair  start  airly 


JORNADA   DEL   MUBRTO.  253 

in  September,  and  was  a  goin'  back  by  way  of  Arizony 
of  course.  There's  a  place  about  a  hundred  mile  from 
here  on  t'other  trail,  called — somebody's  Canon, — the 
wust  place  fur  Injuns  in  the  world.  "We  camped  at  a 
spring  at  this  eend  all  night,  and  airly  in  the  mornin' 
started  through.  When  we  got  about  two-thirds  of  the 
way  through,  at  a  suddint  turn  in  the  road,  the  first  team 
come  chuck  up  agin  a  barricade  o'  rocks,  an'  a  swarm  of 
Taches  come  down  on  us  from  all  sides.  "We'd  passed  a 
pass'l  o'  soldiers  on  the  road,  but  of  course,  as  luck  'd 
have  it,  they  wan't  there.  That  'ere,  gentle?Hen,  was  the 
worst  massacre  I've  ever  knowed  of.  Ther  wan't  no  help, 
an'  they  jest  had  the  jump  on  us.  I  'member  at  the  first, 
seein'  some  of  the  wimmin'  jump  out 'n  the  wagons  and 
run  screamin'  down  among  the  chapparal,  tryin'  to  hide.  I 
was  up  in  the  lead,  an'  started  back  to  where  my  outfit 
was,  fust  thing.  I  never  got  there.  Suthin'  or  somebody 
struck  me  over  the  head  from  behind." 

Here  the  speaker  took  off  his  hat,  and  leaning  forward, 
bade  his  auditors  place  their  fingers  upon  a  deep  and 
ugly  scar  upon  his  head. 

"  I  fell  down  an'  I  rec'lect  gittin'  up  ag'in  and  runnin' 
on  and  on.  It  seemed  as  though  I  never  got  where  I 
wanted  to,  an'  I  turned  dizzy,  an'  commenced  a  gittin' 
blind.  But  I  kep'  a  goin'  till  all  of  a  suddint  I  forgot 
everything.  "When  I  come  to  my  senses  it  must  'a  been 
a  week  afterwards.  I  never  knowed,  but  it  was  on  a 
narrer  bed  in  a  hospital,  at  a  camp  that's  'bolished  now, 
fifty  mile  west  of  that  ar'  Canon.  You  see  them  soldiers 
come  along  after  us, — too  late.  I  allus  heerd  that  the 
last  livin'  soul  was  killed.  But  they  found  me  somewhar, 
an'  toted  me  along  as  them  fellers  knows  how  to  do.  One 
day  I  kinder  woke  up,  layin'  on  a  narrer  bed  in  a  'dobe 


JORNADA   DEL   MCKRTO. 

house,  an'  a  big  bearded  feller  in  a  uniform  was  a  holdin' 
of  my  wrist,  and  lookin'  down  at  me,  an'  smilin'  like  he 
was  nigh  tickled  to  death.  I  tell  you," — with  a  glance 
at  the  medical  man,  "  he  wus  a  doctor.  I  crawled  roun' 
that  place  till  I  was  strong  agin'  and  kep'  thinkin'  it  all 
over.  I  concluded  I  was  the  only  man  left.  I  was  riled, 
an'  I  listed  in  them  Second  Dragoons,  a  purpose  for  to 
kill  Injuns.  I  cared  fur  nothin'  else  then,  an'  I  served 
out  five  years  'listment.  Then  I  went  back  to  Californy. 
But  since  then  I  aint  had  no  luck.  I  aint  done  no  good 
for  years.  It's  been  months  now  sence  I've  thort  of  any- 
thing but  that  day  in  the  canon.  I  tell  ye,  sometimes  I 
kinder  think  may  be  my  wife  and  some  of  them  wimmen 
got  away !  'Taint  so.  I  knoio  'taint  so,  an'  its  no  use  to 
speckerlate.  What  do  I  care  now  ?  She  was  a  j>oot\j 
thing,  an'  sly,  an'  smart.  But  what  makes  me  think  of 
her  is  beyand  that.  You  see  she  was  ailin  a  little, — wa'nt 
very  well,  and  ef  she'd  a  lived  a  week  longer  " — 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  and  leaning  forward 
placed  his  great  hands  over  his  face  and  sat  silent.  After 
a  while  he  resumed  : 

"  Gentlemen,  't  would  n't  be  any  use  fur  you  to  tell  me 
I'm  a  fool.  I've  been  a  thinkin'  of  this  for  fourteen  year, 
and  now  it 's  got  to  be  I  aint  good  fur  nothin'  else.  Other 
men  has  their  youngsters  an'  never  thinks  of  it,  but  I 
can  't  hear  a  baby  cry — which  I  hain't  often — 'thout 
gittin'  kind  o'  weak.  But  there  's  one  thing  I  Jdn  do. 
I'm  goin'  to  find  that  place  in  the  car/on.  I  've  as  good 
a  right  to  visit  my  family  cimetry  as  any  man  livin' — " 
and  the  speaker  grew  excited  as  he  thus  combated  the 
idea  of  being  foolish  in  the  premises ;  but  he  tremulously 
added :  "  I  'd  give  all  that  ten  thousand,  and  all  the  water 
there  is  on  the  hornado,  if  I  cud  see,  jest  once,  that  baby 
that  never  was  born." 


JORNADA   DEL   MUERTO.  255 

None  of  the  men  he  had  spoken  to  were  fools,  but  all 
had  been  mistaken  in  their  conception  of  the  frontiers- 
man. He  was  now  invested  with  a  new  interest.  So  far 
as  they  knew  he  was  the  only  survivor  of  one  of  the  most 
fearful  of  all  the  Indian  massacres  of  that  country.  They 
respected  the  story  and  the  feelings  of  one  to  whom  that 
day  had  been  a  brooding  memory  for  so  many  years. 
The  physician  at  least  was  a  man  of  some  learning, 
culture  and  delicacy  of  feeling.  He  divined  the  tender 
spot  in  this  giant  which  his  and  his  companion's  raillery 
had  touched,  and  now  felt  the  peculiar  leaning  toward 
him  which  all  his  cloth  experience  in  connection  with 
what  bids  fair  to  be  "  a  special  case." 

"  See  here,  my  friend,"  said  he,  "  who  told  you  that 
your — ah,  your  wife,  was  actually  killed  ?  I  would  'nt 
raise  your  hopes,  you  know  ;  but  then  there  's  no  telling 
about  such  things  unless  you  actually  know.  You  are 
alive,  you  see,  and — ah,  well,  you  can't  'most  always  tell." 
He  ended  with  a  laugh.  He  thought  he  would  say  some- 
thing comforting,  and  had  broken  down  and  ended  with 
a  slang  expression.  Such  are  ever  your  male  comforters. 
Presently  he  continued :  "Now  you  see,  the  chances  are, 
if  things  were  as  you  state,  that — ah,  in  view  of  the  ex- 
citement and  fight,  you  know,  the  little  fellow  would  be 
born  then  and  there,  and — ah,  if  the  mother  was  strong, 
you  know,  why  you  may  yet  see  the  ch — " 

He  suddenly  stopped,  for  the  frontiersman  was  leaning 
forward  in  his  seat,  and  with  quick  breath  drinking  in 
every  word.  "My  God!"  he  said,  "do  you  think  so? 
Air  you  in  ycarnest  ?  Nobody  told  me  she  was  dead, — 
and  everybody.  But  she  is — she  is,  and  if  she  was  n't,  it 
would  n't  know  me." 

"  It!     Who  ? "  said  the  medical  man. 


256  JORNADA   BEL   MUERTO. 

"  The  baby ! " 

The  short  summer  night  began  to  fade,  and  that  rare 
first  glimpse  of  sunlight  upon  mountain  snow,  which 
more  than  anything  in  nature  bears  the  similitude  of  a 
kiss,  began  to  appear.  The  tired  beasts  seemed  to  take 
new  life,  and  pushed  eagerly  on.  Far  in  the  distance 
could  be  dimly  heard  the  first  crowing  of  the  cocks,  the 
bleating  of  goats,  and  the  cry  of  asses,  while  the  thin  blue 
breakfast-smoke  could  be  seen  curling  from  the  chimney 
of  the  little  adobe  castle,  which  was  the  "  lucky a"  man's 
ranche. 

The  proprietor  was  a  sandy-haired  fellow,  half  Yankee, 
half  Irishman.  All  the  frontiersmen  had  heard  of  him 
was  true.  He  had  a  wife  and  babies,  and  a  Government 
contract,  and  it  was  his  first  luck.  He  was  happy,  and 
he  ushered  the  four  travellers  into  the  house  as  though 
he  had  known  them  for  years.  He  had  a  protege,vthe 
child  of  a  Mexican  servant,  whom  he  considered  one  of  the 
attractions  of  his  place,  and  of  whom  he  was  wonderfully 
proud.  When  she  came  into  the  room  at  these  early 
breakfasts,  he  always  dilated  upon  the  girl  and  her  pecu- 
liar history.  The  facts  warranted  him.  SI  .e  was  a  creature 
of  fourteen,  who  looked  twenty.  She  had  an  enormous 
quantity  of  that  glorious  red  hair  which  s  crimson  in  the 
sunshine,  and  eyes  which  were  big  and  jlack.  She  was 
round  and  lithe  and  graceful,  and  was,  in  short,  a  rare 
specimen  of  the  being  which  sometimes  jpriugs  from  the 
healthful  admixture  of  two  races. 

"  Do  you  see  that  garl,  gentlemen  ?"  t  ^ys  he.  "  That's 
the  handsomest  little  thing  in  Me>  ico,  and  differs 
from  thim  all,  in  her  birthplace  and  h  r  nursin'.  Sure 
her  mother's  me  cook,  and  nothin'  to  m  ,  and  I've  plenty 
of  me  own,  but  they  was  born  in  a  he  ise."  And  with 


JORNADA    DEL   MUERTO.  257 

that  he  hurried  away  to  attend  to  some  necessary  things, 
intending  by  all  means  to  hasten  back  and  finish  his 
proud  tale. 

The  four  travellers  sat  and  watched  with  some  eager- 
ness the  preparations  for  breakfast.  From  time  to  time 
entered  the  girl  and  her  mother,  busied  with  household 
affairs.  The  latter  seemed  an  almost  middle-aged  Spanish 
woman  of  the  better  kind,  care-worn  and  wrinkled  as  all 
her  class  are  when  youth  fades.  She  was  accustomed  to 
strangers  and  did  not  notice  that  the  huge  frontiersman 
had  regarded  her  from  her  first  entrance  with  a  kind  of 
dreamy  stare.  The  frijoles  and  the  chile-con-carne  had 
occupied  her  attention,  and  she  almost  screamed  when 
the  big  man  rose  up  in  her  way,  his  gray  eyes  glittering 
and  his  lips  white,  and  faintly  spoke  a  word  in  Spanish, — 
so  faintly  that  hone  understood. 

She  did  not  let  fall  the  brown  dish  she  held  in  her 
hand  ;  she  was  ignorant  of  nerves  and  sensations :  but  she 
placed  it  upon  the  table  and  looked  steadily  at  him.  Her 
face  blanched  with  fear  and  horror.  As  slow  recognition 
dawned  upon  her,  she  sank  down  upon  the  floor  and 
turned  away  her  head,  muttering  "  0  caro  Jesus, — retro- 
ceder  de  la  muer 

"  But  I  am  n't  returned  from  the  dead,"  said  he.  "I'm 
Bob, — Big  Bof  W'y  now  look  here, — say !  don't  go 
away.  I'm  drAk,  or  crazy,  or  drearnin,'  or  else  you 
are, — my  wife  !  ' 

She  arose  w  ule  he  spoke,  and  the  look  of  terror 
changed  to  on^of  consternation  and  anxiety.  "  Oh  go 
away,"  she  said'4n  her  lisping  English,  "  it  is  so  long,  so 
long;  since  thei''1  other  husband — mucho  muchacha ;"  and 
she  passed  backward  through  the  door,  her  face  full  of  a 
18 


258  JORNADA    DEL    MUERTO. 

great  apprehension.  What  wonder?  Dead  husbands 
are  not  wanted  to  come  back  again  and  interrupt  the 
social  relations  which  come  about  through  their  deaths. 
This  Spanish  woman  had  a  second  living  husband,  even 
then  in  the  dooryard,  and  acted  as  many  of  you  would  in 
a  situation  so  strange  and  so  nearly  impossible. 

Then  the  proprietor  returned  and  proceeded  to  finish  his 
remarks.  "I  was  about  to  remark  to  ye,  gentlemin, 
about  this  garl,  that  her  mother  was  one  of  the  only  two 
persons  who  come  out  alive  from  the  massacre  in  the 
canon  a  dozen  years  ago.  This  garl — come  'ere  Chuck — 
was  born  there  among  the  chaparral,  where  her  mother 
and  t'  other  woman  hid  at  the  first  of  the  scare,  and  she 
lived  and  growed,  and  its  a  beauty,  sure." 

The  frontiersman  listened  as  one  who  dreams.  His 
eyes  rested  softly  and  lovingly  upon  the  child,  who  knew 
and  cared  as  little  for  him  as  though  he  were  indeed  dead 
in  the  canon.  "  Chicquita,"  said  he  as  he  advanced  toward 
her  and  held  out  his  hand,  "  do  ye  know  who  I  am  ? 
Yer  mother  does.  W'y  now  come  ! — can't  ye  ?"  His 
fond  and  confident  look  changed  to  one  almost  of  agony 
as  the  girl  ran  from  him  with  a  wondering  look,  and  took 
refuge  beside  the  proprietor. 

"  Look  here  Mister,"  said  the  Irishman,  "  I  don't  know 
you,  but  you  must  be  a  fool.  "What  are  ye  a  skeerin'  of 
this  one  for  ?  Now  stop  yer  foolin'  and  eat  yer  breakfast 
if  ye  want  to,  and  if  not,  be  done  wid  yer  nonsense  in  me 
house." 

"  She's  my  own  little  one,"  thundered  the  other.  "  I'm 
her  father!  Go  call  her  mother  to  tell  ye — and  mind  yer 
jaw  or  I'll—  Then  the  woman,  with  red  eyes,  and  a 
face  in  which  a  strange  contest  was  visible,  again  entered 
the  room. 


JORNADA    DEL   MUERTO.  259* 

"Ko,  Senor,"  said  she.  "I  iiotknow  you — go."  And 
she  sank  into  a  corner,  and  covered  her  face  and  rocked 
to  and  fro. 

The  Irishman  seemed  reassured.  Therefore  he  ad- 
vanced upon  his  antagonist.  "  Who  are  you  ?"  he  said. 
"  The  man  you  claim  to  be  is  dead  long  ago.  He  was- 
dead  when  this  garl  was  born.  You  can't  play  no  sich 
stuff  as  that.  'T  aint  none  of  this  one  ye'll  git  now. 
She  won't  look  at  you.  Chuck,  who  is  this  felley  anyhow  ?" 

The  spoiled  beauty  looked  disdainfully  toward  the 
frontiersman,  contemplated  him  for  a  moment,  and  broke 
into  a  careless  laugh. 

The  victim  of  all  this  sunk  into  a  seat  like  one  stricken. 
The  actions  of  the  child  were  natural,  and  the  instinctive 
recognition  of  relationships  is  but  a  fable.  The  actions 
of  the  mother  were,  perhaps,  equally  so.  She  had  said, 
"  so  long — so  long,"  and  what  she  meant  by  it  was  true. 
The  broken-hearted  man,  denied  by  his  wife,  derided  by 
his  child, — of  whose  possible  existence  he  had  vaguely 
dreamed  for  so  many  years — and  insulted  and  defied  by 
an  uninterested  but  officious  stranger,  crept  away  and 
hid  himself  in  the  coach,  and  was  there  when  it  drove 
out  of  the  yard  on  its  onward  journey. 

The  remaining  fifty  miles  were  travelled  in  the  glow 
and  cheerfulness  of  day,  but  the  party  was  now  a  quiet 
and  constrained  one.  The  physician  and  the  trader  con- 
versed apart,  in  instinctive  deference  to  the  mood  of  their 
companion,  who  sat  in  his  old  seat,  pale,  haggard,  and 
seemingly  crushed  by  that  century  of  suffering  which  to 
some  in  this  life  is  concentrated  into  a  single  hour.  Years 
seemed  added  to  his  age. 

The  conversation  between  the  two  gentlemen  grew 
more  earnest  and  confidential,  and  finally,  as  by  agree- 
ment, the  physician  left  his  seat,  and  placed  himself  beside 


260  JORNADA    DEL    MUERTO. 

the  frontiersman.  The  touch  of  the  kind  man's  hand, — 
the  hand  of  a  physician  with  a  heart, — was  almost  a  caress, 
as  he  said,  "Now  my  friend,  Wiggins  and  I  have  been 
talking  about  this, — ah,  this  trouble  of  yours.  If  you 
need  any  help  of  any  kind,  we  want  to  know  it.  We 
also  want  to  say  we  are  sorry  for  anything  we  said  last 
night,  which  was, — ah,  not  agreeable  you  know.  I  am 
stationed  at  Selden.  We'll  be  there  this  evening  you 
know,  and  I  think,  perhaps, — ah,  that  you  had  better 
stay  awhile  with  me." 

When  at  last  the  post  was  reached,  it  seemed  with 
difficulty  that  the  stranger  walked  to  the  doctor's  quar- 
ters. As  the  days  passed  on>  he  failed  to  appear.  The 
collossal  strength  became  childish  weakness.  Every  sign 
of  age  had  smitten  him.  But  the  pillow  on  which  the 
gray  head  lay  was  softer  than  any  he  had  ever  felt  before. 
The  great  beard  which  streamed  over  the  coverlet,  and 
grew  whiter  every  day,  seemed  a  fit  setting  for  the  strong 
features,  changing  hourly  now  into  more  perfect  peace. 
The  words  and  the  scene  which  had  wrecked  the  last 
hope  of  this  man's  life  had  made  no  change  in  the  routine 
at  the  ranche.  The  woman  kept  her  secret.  Her  hus- 
band never  heard  or  dreamed  of  the  situation;  and  the 
careless  girl  only  remembered  as  an  incident  the  old 
man's  admiration. 

I  would  that  that  mother  and  daughter  could  have 
been  near,  that  autumn  afternoon,  when  the  big  emaciated 
hand  was  held  by  the  last  friend  he  ever  had,  and  could 
have  heard,  when  he  said :  "  Good-bye.  I'm  glad  to  go. 
I  couldn't  help  it.  I  never  had  no  luck.  It's  all  right 
now." 

And  for  the  last  time, — lonelier  now  than  before,  but 
with  no  fear,  nor  danger  nor  thirst, — the  frontiersman 
started  out  upon  Jornada  del  muerto. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

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on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
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